


Decoding the Saiyan

by Piccolo_is_green



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 27,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piccolo_is_green/pseuds/Piccolo_is_green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bulma begins to realize that there's more to her Saiyan house-guest than meets the eye. B/V, a short series that spans 'those three years'. Written for challenges on the Blue & Black livejournal community. COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Touch

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This B/V was originally intended as a series of one-shots and drabbles that spanned `those three years'. However, as the story progressed each chapter became less and less like a one shot, and more like flowing chapters in a story. It was completed in 2012 with 26 chapters in total; I am posting this to AO3 because mediaminer appears to be shutting down. The M-rated version, which has been edited slightly to comply with rules, can be found on my fanfiction.net account.
> 
> Each chapter has been written for a challenge at the Blue & Black community on livejournal, which you can find at bulmavegeta (dot) livejournal (dot) com. Therefore, most of the chapter titles are simply the prompts I used to write the chapters. Most prompts come from the `Intimacy Challenge', but I also use the odd other prompt, too.  
> This first chapter is based on the prompt 'touch', and covers that scene just after Vegeta blows up the GR.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

 

**Touch**

_Just one touch…_

She reached out a hand tentatively, pausing as it hovered over the prone form of her houseguest. Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip, and she took in one shaky breath.

_Just one touch._

But what if he woke up?

She pulled her hand back, and clutched at the hem of her dress. She had to keep her hands occupied, or they'd start doing things. Bad things.

She closed her eyes. Her hands were cold, and he was so warm. She knew this because she had touched his skin for the very first time today. He had almost killed himself, pushing his body and the gravity room to the limit and beyond. Stupid Saiyan.

But her mama's words echoed in her head. _That man works so hard._

She bit her bottom lip, her eyes taking in all of him. He was a very handsome man, that Vegeta. But he was so _dark._ He never looked peaceful. He always looked dangerous.

She was good at hiding her fear. She yelled at him, poked at his armour, crossed her arms and glared at him. He thought of her as annoying, but he needed her scientific skills. She knew she was safe enough.

But something was changing. She had feared for his life today. She had felt relief when he'd pulled himself free of the GR. She felt pity for him now, watching as he lay unconscious, an oxygen mask over his face. He still didn't look peaceful. Every now and then he'd twitch and mutter something. His brows would furrow, and she knew he was having a nightmare.

She wanted to touch him, and not just because he was so warm. She wanted to touch him so that she could protect him from the demons in his mind. She wanted to touch him, because she suddenly saw him as a person. He wasn't a monster; he was just a man. A very lonely man.

She was lonely too.

Her hand reached out once more, but he shifted, moaning suddenly. She pulled her arm back quickly, watching with worry. "Kakarot," he muttered again, before falling silent.

Her hands were cold. She tucked them under her arms, and leaned forward on the desk. She ignored the fact that Yamcha was still training outside.

She watched Vegeta.


	2. Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The prompt for this chapter was `skin', also from the Intimacy Challenge on the Blue & Black livejournal community.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Skin**

Bulma was accustomed to seeing scars. She had, after all, spent a large amount of her life dating a man with two great gashes across his face.

But there was something about the deep groves that lined Vegeta's skin, mixed with fainter marks that glinted silver in the sunlight that bothered her. And so she found herself staring at his broad, bare back, contemplating how such a proud, accomplished fighter had come to be marked with  _so many_  different scars.

He turned away from the kitchen fridge suddenly, glaring at her over his shoulder. She busied herself in her blueprints that lay scattered across the table, and didn't dare to look up again until she could hide most of her face behind her cup of coffee.

His black eyes stared back at her, and she almost choked on the warm liquid. There was something deeply unnerving about this man that made her spine crawl and her heart race. But at the same time he was so  _interesting_ , like an unexplained mystery, and she, the scientist, needed to discover what lay beneath that hard exterior that was soldier, predator, and monster.

She set the mug down quickly, folding her arms on the table in front of her.

"It's good to see you've recovered, Vegeta," she said, inclining her head towards him. "I'm glad you don't need any bandages anymore."

"Hnn," was all he replied, dismissing her. The fridge door, left open for so long, began to beep in protest, drawing his gaze away from her. She watched him assess the appliance for a moment, half-expecting him to break it in some way, but he surprised her once again by simply closing the door.

He had an odd assortment of food tucked under his arm, including a block of cheese, and a bag full of oranges. He set these all down on the table and lowered himself into the chair opposite her. His movements were inhumanly quick- almost too fast for her to follow- and the only time his arm seemed to still was when he held an item of food to his mouth.

It was then she noticed the pink skin that puckered on his bicep, newly formed over what was a hideous wound. Something in her heart twisted at the sight. It was her machine that had done that to him.

Her eyes met his, and she knew he had been watching her face.

She looked away, feeling guilty. She did not want to admit that she liked the idea that she had marked this alien beast forever.


	3. Flirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The prompt for this was 'flirt'.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

.

**Flirt**

Bulma leaned back in her chair, watching her image in the mirror as the makeup artist added the finishing touches to her lips. The blonde woman stepped back, grinning from ear to ear.

"You look stunning, Bulma," she told the heiress. "Every man is going to want to take you home tonight."

Bulma laughed lightly, lifting a hand to touch one of the ringlets that curled about her clavicle. In the past month she'd done away with her perm, sick of the way it acted in the wind, and had replaced the style with soft curls instead. Tonight her hair stylist had pinned only a portion of her hair back, creating a cascade of blue curls that ran from the crown of her head to her shoulder blades. Combined with her newly-applied smoky eyes, shimmering blue dress and killer heels that she'd selected, she would be hands down the most attractive woman at the annual Capsule Corp Gala Ball.

Her movements faltered only slightly as she stepped into the dress, remembering the fact that she was dateless.

.

Oh, every man in the room  _did_  act as if they wanted to take her home. Bulma rolled her eyes as she made another escape from a businessman twice her age, who had spent the entire time conversing with her breasts before attempting to grope her ass.

Sighing, she set down her empty champagne flute on a nearby table, before popping another piece of leftover finger food in her mouth. As she ate, feeling a headache coming on from the blaring music, she looked around and realised that it was no longer necessary to stay. She'd given her speech at the beginning of the ball, eaten her dinner, taken part in all of the obligatory dances with businessmen and politicians, and conversed with all of their wives.

Quite frankly, she'd had enough.

Slipping out through the kitchens attached to Capsule Corp's ballroom, she found herself in the cool night air, and sighed in relief. She slipped her heels off one at a time, clutching them both by her right hand as she used her left to trace a path along the building's side, guiding herself anti-clockwise around the massive yellow dome that housed her business, scientific research, and home.

It was a dark night; the kind that made her think about ghouls and ghosts. The moon was only a tiny sliver that hid behind clouds and did nothing to illuminate the world below. She was suddenly thankful for the fact that she knew the Capsule Corp grounds like the back of her hand. A little darkness couldn't stop her.

A figure materialised in front of her, causing her to jump back in shock as she bumped into the person. The man straightened, and she realised that he must have been standing there all along, slumped against the side of the building.

"Sorry," she apologised, backing away from the tall, shadowy figure, the smell of alcohol strong in the air.

"Don't be," the man slurred, suddenly lurching towards her. His arms trapped her against the building, his entire body caging her in. She gasped and pressed herself flat against the wall, bare heels digging into the grass.

"Leave me alone," she said, dropping her shoes and weakly pushing against him. There was no fight in her, her strength having drained away with the shock and fear of it all.

"You were flirting with me, earlier," the man replied, his mouth coming dangerously close to her ear. "You shouldn't tease on the dance floor if you aren't willing to put out."

"You're drunk," she hissed, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She tried once more to push him away, but he merely closed the distance between their bodies, crushing her against the wall with enough force to expel the air in her lungs.

"Leave her."

The words, spoken sharply by a deep, husky voice, rang out in the crisp night air. Bulma uttered a small gasp in reply; never had she been more pleased to hear Vegeta's arrogant tone.

The stranger pulled back enough that she could breathe. "Fuck off," he hissed into the darkness. "Go find your own chick."

Bulma squealed as a hand seemed to appear from out of nowhere, wrenching the man back by the shoulder. She couldn't see more than blurred, black shapes, but she caught the sound of a dull thud, and then another as the larger of the two figures slumped to the ground.

"Be thankful that I didn't kill you," Vegeta said, and a shiver ran up her spine. The man on the ground- she still didn't know who he was- wheezed in reply, unaware that the statement was more than just cheap talk.

A strong hand clamped around her arm, and she jerked in surprise. She caught the distinct smell of sweat and musk that marked Vegeta, and let out a shaky breath, looking up at the distinct shape of the Saiyan's gravity-defying hair.

"Thank you," she whispered, allowing Vegeta to lead her through the darkness to the private entrance of the Briefs' living quarters. His hand released her as they stepped through the doorway, the lights inside switching on automatically.

"Really, thank you Vegeta," she said as he headed for the stairwell. "That was kind of you, to step in like that."

He paused, the muscles on his back rippling in response to her words.

"Make no mistake, woman," he spoke quietly, back to her, his voice laced with warning. "I am  _not_  a kind person."

"Then why'd you do it?"

_Why was it that she was brave around him, a mass murderer, but not around some weak Human?_

Vegeta turned his head, eyes shifting to bore into her.

"I am a Saiyan," he replied, as if this was supposed to answer everything.

.

"Did you hear?" one of the younger board members turned to her, just as the meeting was to begin. "One of the newbies from Shizuka Corp. turned up to yesterday's meeting with a black eye. Apparently something happened at the Gala Ball, but no one seems to have seen anything."

"That's odd," she replied quietly, turning to her notes. It was not business that filled her mind, though, but the voice of the Saiyan Prince ringing clear through the night air.


	4. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12 July 2014: Just be aware that these A/Ns are old; I'm keeping the original ones even though I'm posting to a new site. 
> 
> Original notes: I have had reoccurring dreams before, though never as many as Bulma has in this drabble. However, I do believe that this can occur; my friend, for example, recently became a vegetarian, and for the last month has been plagued with dreams about eating meat!
> 
> I also deleted the paragraph where I expressly used the word 'alone' *rolls eyes*. However, it was what prompted this, and the characters are still alone in this drabble… *shrugs* One of the requirements was to keep this bang on 300 words, and I'm pretty pleased that I managed to get this to be exactly 300 words; I'm not normally good at that kind of stuff.
> 
> This time I didn't use the Intimacy Challenge as a prompt, but a drabble prompt from the Blue & Black livejournal community.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

 

**Alone**

There was no pretending that Bulma was completely unaffected by the incident with the man from Shizuka Corp. Although she was utterly grateful for the fact that Vegeta had saved her, his unexplained reasons for doing so meant that she spent much of her free time replaying the episode, pondering again and again what "I am a Saiyan" was supposed to mean.

The incident- as she had come to think of it- had even snaked its way into her dreams, albeit in rather mutated forms. Some nights it would be Vegeta who she stumbled upon in the dark, Vegeta who pushed her up against the wall. He would lean down, whispering  _"I am a Saiyan"_  darkly in her ear, his hot breath feathering over her neck while his hard erection pressed against her hip.

Other nights she would be attacked by some faceless man, and Vegeta would come to her rescue, only to force her to watch the man be beaten to death.  _"I am a Saiyan,"_  he would say to her, his face splattered in blood.  _" **This**_   _is what I am."_

She awoke with a start after one particularly graphic dream, to find her hand entangled in her panties, mimicking the movements of Dream Vegeta's fingers. She lay there, drenched in sweat, waiting for her heartbeat to stop pounding in her ears.

Wondering if the dreams would ever stop.

Stepping out onto her bedroom balcony, she let out a sigh. It was a hot night, and the breeze against her flushed skin felt good, chilling her damp negligee.

The full moon lit the yard below, and her eyes focused on a lone figure standing shirtless and barefoot in the grass, his black eyes staring up at her with a dark intensity.

She shivered.

Yes, it was a hot night.


	5. Interlude: Decoding the Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: We're doing a POV switch today! And just be warned, there's some foul language and other M rated material because Vegeta is one pissed off (and horny) guy. The prompt for this chapter was 'lips', also from the Intimacy Challenge on the Black & Blue livejournal community.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Interlude: Decoding the Human**

Vegeta had always fought with single-minded determination to be the best. Even before Frieza had given him added reason to train- for revenge, for  _vengeance_ \- he had done so for his pride, and for his pure, unadulterated love of violence.

But now there was a distraction that messed with his training, and it came in the form of voluptuous curves, cherry-coated lips, and the most absurdly-coloured hair he had ever seen. To his detriment, it seemed that the more he tried not to think about the woman, the more thoughts of her crossed his mind.

Of course, he had always been aware of her physical beauty; he had eyes, did he not? She had an effect on every heterosexual male that crossed her path, and she knew it, too. Vegeta could see it in the way she walked, the way she held her head high and let her hips sway  _just so_ , making every woman sigh with jealousy and every man hard with the need to grab her hips, to push her up against the nearest wall and spread those long legs wide…

He hissed in pain as his body hit the floor hard, the weight of 450 times the Earth's gravity crushing down on him. He growled in frustration, the furious noise echoing through the room. It was shameful to be losing so much concentration, and over something as pathetic as a little Human female.

 _Start again from the beginning_ , he told himself, livid with the fact that he had been betrayed by his own mind. His muscles bulged as he counted, one, two, three, four, his entire frame shaking with the strain of one-armed push-ups in gravity that should had pulverised his bones. His fury kept him going, kept him steady through the first hundred. Time slipped away until there was nothing but his black anger, boiling in the pit of his stomach, and the constant sound of dripping sweat that ran from forehead to nose to pool on the floor.

He changed hands at the one thousand mark and started his count again, still angry, still furious, still filled with so much hatred and the need to crush something's skull or fuck some faceless woman senseless until his restlessness, his uneasy feeling, dissipated completely. It was not his fault, he fumed, that this planet lacked decent establishments, and that every streetwalker was sure to be infected with some venereal disease. It was not his fault that this mud ball that he was trapped on had him living like a monk for months and months on end, driving him crazy and leaving him with nothing but his hand to relieve himself. Even under Frieza he'd been in a better position, always able to find some whore that was clean enough to waste a few hours away with until those primal needs were out of his system. Given the circumstances he could hardly be blamed for thinking about the infuriating blue-haired bitch, for imagining her naked, for watching her out of the corner of his eye every time he passed her in the hall. No, he told himself, the black fury bubbling in his gut, it was  _her_  fault for being so damn distracting,  _her_  fault for smelling the way she did, for looking so damn fuckable every time she stole glances at him with those bright blue eyes. Oh, he saw those looks. She thought he didn't notice, but he was acutely aware of the way she watched him.

He had lost count once more. He cursed, screaming at the empty, humming room. In a fit of rage he jumped to his feet, stalking to the control panel with the driving need to  _hit something_. He drove his fist through the machine's engine, the gravity dying as sparks hissed and metal screeched. Coming to his senses, he screamed once more, realising that in his fury he had destroyed the one thing he needed the most.

He stepped out into the humid night air, his entire body shaking as he fought to restrain his fury. Fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically, he stared up at the full moon, a growl rumbling and rising in his throat as the ghost of his tail, always lingering, lashed behind him. Vaguely he registered that it was the moon causing his dark mood, but all he could really think about was the fact that he needed to do  _something_ , because he was going mad, stagnating,  _not_  becoming a Super Saiyan,  _not_  training hard enough,  _not_  focusing as he always had before. Kakarot, that low-class clown, was laughing at him, and in his present state he could do nothing about it.

A sound drew his attention to one of the upper balconies, the wind carrying the scent of the woman to him before she even emerged on the small deck. He glared up at her as she gasped, noticing his presence for the first time.

She wore nothing but a sheer piece of cloth, the moonlight bathing her in an ethereal glow. He took in everything, his restless fury becoming dangerously more like arousal with every passing second. She was aroused too; he could smell it in the air, could see it in the way her chest rose and fell in panting breaths, her nipples pebbling underneath the garment that did nothing to hide her body. It would be so easy to take her now, out in the open and under the blasted moon. He would make her cry his name as he buried himself within her. He growled at the thought, his penis straining in his tight shorts.

" _Vegeta_ ," she sighed, almost too quiet for him to hear. The sound was forlorn, filled with longing and loneliness, and it shocked him to the core. He did not understand how this woman, so weak and fragile, could have some sort of power over him, and yet she did. Her every movement, every sigh, every smell captured him as if  _he_  were the prey and she the huntress, and it maddened him to no end.

He snarled, rising vertically until he floated level with her, hovering some ten meters away from her balcony. He saw the hopeful longing in her eyes, even greater than her physical need, and bared his fangs. He would not become this woman's plaything.

He blasted high into the air, welcoming the cold wind that rushed around him. He kept flying, faster and faster across land and sea until the world around him matched his mood, the dark ocean rolling below him as thunder boomed all around and lightening cracked above, rain pouring in hoards, soaking him, cooling him to the bone.

He floated there, in the midst of the raging storm, and screamed until his throat was raw, wondering how the fuck his life had turned out this way. He should have been the King of Saiyans, and yet here he was, playing second fiddle to a low-class clown, no achievements, no great battles to his name.

And that woman. He did not want her. He wanted  _nothing_  from her, and yet she registered in his mind, every little thing she did drawing his attention. He noticed her sighs and glances, her ki and her scent, her smooth skin and those plump lips. He noticed  _her._

And that was no good at all.


	6. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The prompt for this chapter was 'comfort' from the Intimacy Challenge.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Comfort**

"I'm sorry. You're a great guy, really, but…"  _but you're not the homicidal maniac I've been dreaming about for the last few months…_  "…but you're just not my type. I hang around with a whole bunch of martial artists and -"

"And you'd rather have a man with muscles. Got it."

"No! I mean, you're perfect, but you're so  _clean_ ," Bulma replied, gesturing across the table at the handsome, blue-eyed blonde, his hair slicked neatly back and his suit still crisp, even after a full day's work. "I'm just used to a different kind of guy. I'm sorry."

The man snorted as she paid the waitress for her coffee. "If I knew you wanted dirty I would have just taken you straight to bed."

"Ugh, jerk," she muttered, though she was more upset with her girlfriends who had organised the blind coffee date than with the rejected man in front of her. Not wishing to make a scene- lest some desperate paparazzo think her newsworthy- she grabbed her purse, and left the coffee house quickly.

She didn't look back.

.

She managed to drive halfway home before the first phone calls from her group of girlfriends started coming in. She ignored them and turned the radio up louder, switching her cell phone onto silent.

"Fuck," she muttered to herself, rubbing her forehead. She should never have said yes to the blind date in the first place, but her friends had pestered her about her dead sex life and the fact that the split between her and Yamcha seemed permanent this time. " _You two have been separated for seven months now! You said it was for good, so find another man already!_ " she mimicked in a nasal voice, screwing her face up as she did so. "Bitches," she huffed, switching on her windscreen wipers as it began to rain.

No doubt they'd be upset with her, now. She could imagine what they were all dying to say.  _"Jack is a great guy! He's a partner in a law firm! He's perfect! Why don't you want him?"_  They wouldn't understand- they never had understood- her attraction to gruff, fighting men. They didn't have the same sense of adventure that she had, they hadn't been to other planets, they hadn't flown through the air in nothing but a man's arms, and they certainly hadn't spent months during their childhood searching for magical balls that could grant wishes.

She sighed, pulling into the Capsule Corp. driveway. She really couldn't blame her old college friends for their lack of understanding, since it was her own damn fault for keeping things a secret. They had no idea about Namek or Frieza or the dragonballs. They didn't know that men could fly, because like most people, they believed that the televised martial arts tournaments involved a bunch of semi-fake fights that, although still gruelling, did not require supernatural skills like ki manipulation. She and Yamcha and had made the decision to keep certain things a secret a long time ago, and for good reason. Human greed had caused too much trouble with the dragonballs in the past- she still shuddered when she thought about the Red Ribbon Army- and it was far easier to  _not_  talk about ki and flying and aliens that turned into giant apes, than to explain it all.

It made explaining her break-up with Yamcha difficult, too. She couldn't tell her girlfriends about the pressure that the impending Android doom put on her and her ex, she couldn't explain  _why_  it made so much sense that Yamcha go off to train in the desert, away from the distractions of city life, and she couldn't explain about the jealousy her ex harboured towards a certain alien. None of her friends knew of the boy from the future, nor did they know that the Androids were being built in some secret lab at this very moment. They didn't even know that Vegeta existed, or that she had, up until three months ago, spent a great deal of her time and energy designing and building military-style training bots for the Saiyan.

Bulma opened her car door and shivered as the icy autumn wind hit her, wishing that she could just forget about her failed relationship and her lack of a sex life. She ran from her car to the front door, heels clacking loudly against the ground as she dove for cover. She was mortified, to say the least, about her afternoon coffee date. She  _hated_  being put in awkward situations, and she  _hated_  turning down decent men. Jack-the-lawyer would be perfect for most women, but for her…

He just wasn't  _enough_.

Inside the door, she slipped off her black heels and carried them in her left hand, her purse still hanging from her right. She padded in stockinged feet across the plush carpet and up the stairs that led to the upper living areas, her head turning as she passed the kitchen and lounge, looking for her mother. With no one in sight she shrugged and continued on, up another flight of stairs and down the hall to her own spacious bedroom. She pushed open the door with her elbow, threw her shoes in the nearest corner, and kicked the door closed behind her with a sigh, dropping her handbag where she stood. She was exhausted from the day's work, and utterly mortified about her disastrous date.

She took off her suit jacket, leaving that on the floor, too, and strolled across the room to pull her curtains closed. The dim light left in her room matched her dull mood, and she slumped into her vanity chair, staring dejectedly at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She was beautiful- stunning, even- but that didn't automatically mean that Prince Charming was going to come strolling into her life. She snorted, thinking about the only real-life Prince she had ever met.  _He_  was many things, but charming was not one of them.

 _They've all ruined me completely_ , she thought, her martial arts friends on her mind. After Yamcha, no ordinary man would satisfy her, but the requirement that a man be super-humanly strong and have the ability to fly limited her list of potential bed mates down to only a select few.

 _That_  was probably the real reason she was crushing after Vegeta, she told herself. The man had a penis, a hot body, and raw physical power, and after spending her entire adult life around men with super-strength, it was no wonder that she had been brainwashed into thinking those three attributes equalled 'The Perfect Man'.

But Vegeta was the worst kind of man to be lusting after- a murderer of billions, and someone who had vowed to kill Son Goku, no less. He didn't even want to be on the planet, let alone in her bed. She felt the blush rising on her cheeks as she thought once more about the incident that had occurred three months before, the last time she had seen Vegeta before his disappearance. She had stood on her balcony like an idiot, practically naked in her see-through negligee, with a very big part of her wishing that he'd just take her right there and then. For a moment she had even thought that was exactly what was going happen, until the Saiyan had snarled at her and blasted away into the air.

Vegeta had even gone a step further, and had left Capsule Corporation entirely, blasting off into space as soon as her father had completed some gravity simulator repairs. To Bulma, it was obvious that this was his way of saying  _'I'm not interested'_.

She didn't even understand why she was attracted to such a sour, angry man. Yes, he was handsome, but so were so many other guys out there. Her thoughts, however, drifted to the moments that she had seen behind his angry mask- to the time he lay injured in the infirmary, plagued by nightmares, and to the time she had come across him staring out the window in the darkened lounge, his eyes trained on the stars above. That night there had been an air of vulnerability about him, and she had witnessed the full extent of his loneliness. He had no one- no friends, no family- and watching him stare at the stars from which he came had pulled at her heart strings and made a lump form in her throat. She had wanted nothing more than to comfort him that night, but he had risen from his seat without a word and glared at her as if she were intruding, despite the fact that it was  _her_  house.

She snorted at the memory, brushing a stray tear from her eye. "You are an idiot," she told her reflection. It was silly to worry about Vegeta. As if he would accept comfort from her, anyway.

"I couldn't agree more," a deep, husky voice spoke from behind her, and she whirled out of her chair, screaming in fright.


	7. Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This entire chapter is pretty much smut. More plot will pick up again in the following chapter, but for now just be aware that this chapter is NC-17. If that makes you uncomfortable, you can read the edited version on my fanfiction(dot)net profile (same username). This is the very first piece of NC-17 citrus that I've ever written, so I'd love to hear your feedback.
> 
> The prompt for this chapter was `smile' from the Intimacy Challenge.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Smile**

Bulma gasped for breath, holding her right hand over her thudding heart as her face clouded in anger. “Vegeta!” she screeched. “ _What the_   _FUCK?!”_

The Saiyan smirked as he lounged shirtless against the opposite wall, his dark eyes practically glowing with satisfaction. “You should see your face,” he chuckled darkly. “This moment is priceless.”

Heartbeat thumping in her ears, Bulma slumped against the edge of her vanity, glaring at the man across the room. “You fucking jerk!” she hissed. “You scared the shit out of me! What the hell are you doing here anyway?!” She was mortified at the fact that she could have been doing  _anything_ , and not realised all the while that Vegeta was there. She was willing to let the rogue Saiyan get away with many things, but violating her privacy was not one of them.

Vegeta's face had darkened somewhat at her question, his expression undecipherable as he stared at her with those midnight eyes. When he didn't reply Bulma straightened herself and stepped forward, lifting her head high and placing her hands firmly on her hips, as she often did when standing up to any of her fighting friends.

“You need to go,” she told him. “I don't want you in my room.”

“Don't you?” he asked, one eyebrow rising in question, and Bulma blinked, wondering if she had heard him correctly.

“Wh… what?”

“You seemed to want me in your bedroom last time I saw you,” he elaborated, pushing himself off the wall. Bulma felt like a deer caught in headlights as he stalked towards her, her mouth going dry as he came closer, stopping well within the bubble of her personal space. They were not touching, but Vegeta stood close enough that Bulma could feel the heat that radiated from his body, and could smell the heady musk that always marked him. She bit her lip and took a nervous step back, only to have her backside hit the edge of her vanity once more. Vegeta smirked at the movement, and Bulma was surprised to see a flash of humour pass through his eyes, though it was only for a moment.

They were equal in height, and it made it hard to avoid his intense gaze. Her eyes flickered from his handsome, brooding face to his body, taking in his perfect musculature, and the scars that threaded across his bronze skin. There was no denying that this man was a fighter; he bore the evidence of a thousand battles with pride, and even now stood before her coated in a sheen of sweat that glinted in the dim light, fresh cuts on his arms marking that he had just come in from training. Bulma's tongue darted out to wet her lips, her thoughts suddenly clouded by the fact that a very masculine man was standing before her in nothing but his training shorts. The thought prompted her eyes to trail lower still, down his washboard abdomen, to rest on the obvious erection that strained against the tight fabric of his spandex shorts.

“Oh,” she exhaled, surprised not only by the sight of Vegeta, but by her own body's reaction to him. Already she could feel an aching need building within her, tendrils of desire running up her spine at the mere possibility of sex with Vegeta. Her eyes rose once more, travelling slowly up his body, to linger on his face that hovered so close to her own. She could see now what she thought she had only imagined before, could see the desire burning in his eyes as he stood there, his warm breath drifting across her face.

She could not help her reaction to him, her lips stretching into a playful grin as she matched his heated gaze. He was the ultimate bad boy, she thought, her heart racing for an entirely different reason than before. He was sin and testosterone and sex all rolled into one, and her body craved him.

His hand reached out, making her jump as he brushed her waist. She allowed him to pull her against him, and let out an involuntary gasp as she felt his hardness press against her abdomen while her breasts, still trapped within the confines of her conservative business shirt, were crushed against his bare chest.

 _Oh Gods_ , she thought briefly, her eyes widening in surprise as his other hand slid down the small of her back and over her ass. She felt trapped in his gaze, caught and betrayed by her own body's desires, and still unsure if this was what she really wanted. She pressed one hand flat against his chest, halting his movements, leaving their lips hovering mere millimetres away from one another.

“You disappeared,” she whispered accusingly, searching his eyes.

“I have to train, woman,” he replied, leaning forward to blow into her ear.

“You could have…” she began, but trailed off, losing her train of thought as he bent his head to her neck, his nose and lips brushing the skin there as he inhaled her scent. She whimpered and allowed her head to loll back, shivering as his breath feathered across her exposed skin, yielding to the sensations he was igniting within her. His hands dug into her flesh as his lips brushed her ear once more.

“You want me here,” he whispered darkly. “I can smell it.”

She gave up trying to think or reason with herself the moment his lips brushed hers. She moaned, her eyes closing and her lips parting as their kiss deepened, her hands moving from her sides to run across his bare back, her nails scraping across the rock hard muscles. She pulled herself closer, melting her body against his blazing skin, gasping as their tongues intertwined, as his sharp teeth nipped at her lips. Her hair was tied in a neat bun, but Vegeta still buried one hand in her bound locks, his fingers massaging her scalp as he pulled her head back and nipped at her jaw and neck, sending shivers down her spine as his mouth worked its way down to her collarbone.

His other arm remained locked firmly against her lower back, his hand gripping her ass and grinding her against his hard erection. She whimpered in frustration, wanting nothing more than to wrap her legs around him, but finding herself trapped by her fitted pencil skirt. As if he read her mind, Vegeta's hand fastened on her zipper, his mouth trailing back up her neck as he pulled the small zipper tab down, leaving the skirt to pool around her ankles. Bulma groaned into his mouth as his hands fastened once more on her buttocks, her legs wrapping around his waist automatically as he lifted her, seating her on the vanity top. She hooked her heels into the backs of his thighs, pulling herself tight against him as they continued to kiss and nip at each other, her arms lifting to wrap around his neck while her fingers dug into his thick black hair.

Vegeta's hands smoothed their way over the curve of her hips and up between their bodies, fastening on her breasts. “Ah,” Bulma panted breathlessly between kisses and thrust her hips forward, feeling his thumbs brushing over her nipples, raised and sensitive beneath her shirt and bra. He growled against her neck in response, and she moaned as the sound seemed to rumble through her body, making her gasp and tug on his hair more.

He pulled away from her entirely, and she whimpered at the sudden loss of his touch. Her chest rose and fell in time with her panting breaths, and her eyes held his fiery gaze. She lifted her hands to her hair, pulling free the pins that held it in place, and shook her hair down, grinning at the Saiyan who stood in the vee of her legs. She gasped as Vegeta's hands fastened on the front of her shirt, tearing it open in one fell swoop, her buttons popping off to clatter on the vanity desk and fall to the carpeted floor. In a rush she shrugged out of the torn shirt and threw it to the side, before reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra.

Her bra still hung from her left wrist when Vegeta descended on her breasts, his hands cupping the soft mounds as he licked and nipped at her sensitive skin. She threw her head back and moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist once more in an attempt to satiate the need within her. She heard him chuckle and lowered her gaze, watching as he took one nipple into his mouth, teasing it between his tongue and his teeth as his eyes stared up at her, watching for her reaction. She groaned again and thrust her hips against him, wanting more, needing to satisfy the ache within her.

Vegeta chuckled again, lifting his head to nip at her earlobe. “Impatient, are we?” he whispered in her ear, and she twisted her head, finding his mouth with her own and crushing her lips against his in reply.

“Fuck yes,” she gasped between breaths, moaning into his mouth as he lifted her from the vanity.

She squealed as Vegeta threw her back against her bed effortlessly, her arms and legs flailing as she landed within a cushioned mass of pillows. She laughed, allowing her head to roll back as she enjoyed the rush that came with being so reckless. Here she was, stretched out and half naked, with one of the most powerful beings in the universe at the foot of her bed. The thought alone was enough to make her wet.

She lifted her head, watching through hooded eyes as Vegeta removed his shorts swiftly, his hard erection standing stiff and proud against his stomach as he stepped out of his clothing. She licked her lips in anticipation, her eyes fixated on his body as he stood there looking like a god, his body hard and smooth and rough all at the same time.

“Oh hell,” she groaned as he climbed onto the bed and reached for her stockings, tearing the black fabric, and the panties hidden underneath, clear from her body. The sheer strength of the man, and the fact that he dared to show it, turned her on even more, and she gasped as he grabbed at her knees, pressing her legs wide open and leaving her fully exposed.

“Oh  _Kami!_ ” she panted as his head bent towards her waist, his lips, brushing lightly over the flat of her stomach, making her shiver. His eyes darted up to watch her reaction as she held his gaze, his tongue darting out to lick at her navel in a way that set her entire body on edge, aching to be touched.

The path of his lips continued lower as his hands brushed at the insides of her thighs. She gasped as his fingers went further, brushing at the sensitive flesh between her legs, hovering at her entrance, and she threw her head back, her chest heaving with each panting breath.

“Please,” she whispered, not quite sure what she was begging for. She wanted him everywhere, above her, inside her, licking at her, and she wanted it all at the same time.

She heard him chuckle, felt the vibrations of his lips, still pressed against her abdomen, and moaned as he slipped two fingers into her, stretching her as they dipped further inside, rubbing against the most sensitive area of her inner walls. At the same moment his tongue found her clit, and she let out a guttural cry, arching her back, her legs shaking as the sensations coursed through her. His fingers pumped in and out of her mercilessly, his tongue and teeth teasing her, building her up, and she dug her fingers into his hair, tugging at him as she thrust her hips in time with his movements. Her breaths came in quick, short gasps, and she groaned, knowing that she was close now.

She cried in frustration as he withdrew completely, chuckling and moving forward until he knelt between her legs, his hands moving to pin her wrists above her head in a way that made her back arch and her breasts jut out towards him. “Not yet,” he said, his head bending towards hers, capturing her lips in a kiss. She moaned into his mouth and lifted her legs, wrapping them around him, feeling finally his erection pressed directly against her heat. He growled against her lips, his hands releasing her arms as he braced himself above her, shifting until the very tip of his shaft nudged against the entrance to her moist centre. She gasped and attempted to thrust against him, but he held her down, one hand pressed firmly against her stomach as he broke their kiss.

“Those pills you take every night,” he growled against her neck, the head of his shaft pressing further into her as his restraint wavered.

“I can't get pregnant!” she gasped, too aroused to think about the fact that he had noticed such a thing.

At her assurance his teeth fastened on her shoulder, and he thrust forward, burying himself inside her in once swift motion. She was vaguely aware of his groans as she screamed, feeling him fill her, stretching her wide as she took in all of him. He paused only for a moment before he pulled back in one long movement, his second thrust forward going even deeper than before, making her squeal. She buried her face against his neck, her nails raking down his broad back as he increased his pace, the long, deep thrusts building her up once more.

“Oh… Vegeta!” she cried, their flesh slapping together as they grunted, her hips lifting in time to meet his every thrust. She kissed his neck, tasting his salty skin, her fingers digging into the flesh of his buttocks as he continued to thrust hard into her.

“Fuck,” he grunted in her ear, his teeth fastening on her earlobe. His hands moved to grab at her legs, lifting them and deepening their connection, making her cry out and dig her hands into his flesh. She smoothed her hands up and down his back, and felt him jerk against her as she brushed over the furry lump where his tail had once been.

“Gah!” he gasped as she brushed over it once more, his thrusts even harder and deeper than before. She twirled her fingers against the fur and he cried out with a snarl, pounding into her, her body slamming against the bed with each hit. His power turned her on, and she revelled in the feel of his body against her, hard and strong as he penetrated her with each deep plunge.

She cried out as her walls clenched around him, her back arching as she climaxed hard. He followed suit only a moment later, his hot seed spilling inside her as he roared, his teeth bared and back arched as he continued to thrust, riding out their orgasms for as long as possible.

She panted in his ear as he lowered himself back on top of her, her lips pressing against his neck. She felt him shift between her legs, beginning to pull out, and she placed one hand on his back to still the movement.

“Stay,” she whispered breathlessly. “Just… for a bit. Stay inside.” She half expected him to ignore her, to get up and leave immediately, but instead she felt him relax against her, his forehead resting against her shoulder as his back rose with each heavy breath.

“I changed my mind,” she whispered in his ear, enjoying his weight on top of her. “You're welcome in my room anytime.”

She could have sworn she saw him smile against her shoulder.


	8. Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was written with the prompt 'lover' in mind, from the Intimacy Challenge.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Lover**

They became lovers.

It wasn't something that she had ever intended. Having been with Yamcha since she was sixteen, she was used to being  _in a relationship_. This, on the other hand, was entirely different.

She supposed it was more akin to having an affair than anything else, though there were no other parties involved. But there was no talk of the future, no  _hey babe, how was your day?_ , and there was certainly no romance.

There was, however, passion- and plenty of it.

They did it everywhere; the labs, the gravity room, their bedrooms, the bathroom, the shower, and even the kitchen were all, at some point or another, used as rendezvous points. She felt like a giddy teenager again, fuelled by hormones and crazed by lust. One look from Vegeta was enough to make her heart beat faster, and within minutes they would be naked- on the floor, on the couch, even once on the roof- writhing in ecstasy.

As exciting as it was- as much as it made her feel  _alive_ , and beautiful, and sexy- it was also a strange and nerve-wracking time. Though she tried to push the thought away, it was always in the back of her mind that Vegeta's presence on Earth was far from permanent, and that he might up and leave, as he had done so before, at any given moment.

Despite her worry, things grew to be more at ease between them. Slowly, he seemed to let his guard down around her. He no longer scowled quite as much, no longer sneered at her when he found her watching him. Once, she had wandered onto the living room balcony to find him there, staring up at the stars. Instead of leaving, as he had always done before, he had remained beside her, accepting her presence and allowing her to examine his handsome face. Perhaps it had just been that he wanted sex- they had ended up on top of the coffee table, that time- but something told her otherwise. She knew that on those nights spent together he found comfort in her arms, and part of her hoped that she was easing the loneliness inside of him, just as he eased the loneliness that burned like acid within her.

And so, somehow, her life began to centre itself around Vegeta. She put more effort into designing him equipment, more time into upgrading the gravity machine and analysing its performance. More often than not she found herself standing outside the gravity room, wrapped up against the harsh winter cold, watching as he pushed his body to the limit.

It seemed to her that he too was more aware of her presence. If he noticed her watching his training- and he always notices- he would finish early, and she would enter the capsule ship that smelled of blood and sweat, and warm her cold hands on his skin.

“Foolish Human,” he would whisper to her in the dark, holding her small wrists with hands stronger than any manacles. Those few words were always infused with something she couldn't quite work out. Was it amazement or confusion, she wondered, that he felt when he held her against him?

She never denied that he was a dangerous man, and yet when she traced the contours of his body with her fingertips, and felt his lips upon her skin, she knew that she had nothing to fear from him. It was easy, in that sense, to look past all that he had done under Frieza. To her, he was no longer  _The Saiyan_. He was Vegeta, the man, and he ignited a fire within her.

Thinking back, she could not pinpoint an exact moment where she came undone. There was no single look, no particular touch or moment that had caused it, but lying in the dark, Vegeta's breath still panting in her ear, it occurred to Bulma that for her this was  _more_  than just sex- that to her they were more than just lovers- and that terrified her completely.


	9. Hug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The prompt for this chapter was `hug' from the Intimacy Challenge.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Hug**

Bulma cursed as the sound of her lab door slamming shut made her jump, causing her to hit her head on the body of the small aircraft she was currently lying under. “Vegeta!” she yelled. “How many times do I have to tell you not to scare me like that? It fucking hurts every time I hit my head, you jerk!”

When no reply came she rolled herself out from under the aircraft, smudging her dirty hands on her overalls. “Vegeta?” she asked tentatively, getting to her feet and looking for the Saiyan Prince. When she rounded the corner of the plane, however, she realised that it wasn't Vegeta in the room at all, but the smallest of the three living Saiyans.

“Gohan!” she grinned, reaching to pull the small boy into a hug. She stopped herself just in time, remembering the fact that she was grubby, and settled for crossing her arms across her chest. “What brings you here, kiddo?” she asked, smiling down at the child.

The boy blushed and started at the ground, shuffling his feet. Bulma had to fight the urge not to laugh; she had spent a month in the confines of a small spaceship with the kid, but he still had a quiet nature, and it sometimes took a while to coax information out of him.

“My mom was wondering if you could help me, Bulma,” he said politely. “I have a physics test next month, and -”

“ _Physics?_ ” she interrupted. “Isn't that something that kids don't start seriously until they're fourteen?” she asked.  _She_ , of course, had been different, but she was a genius.

“My mom got me into an advanced program,” Gohan explained quickly, his eyes still focused on the ground, “but she doesn't understand the content herself, and so she told me to come here and ask you if you could help me with it.”

“Well sure,” she replied, rocking back on her heels. “But I thought you were meant to be training for the Androids with your dad and Piccolo?”

The little boy winced, and Bulma bit her lip.

“Did your mom chew out your dad about all the training you were doing?” she asked gently, eliciting a nod from the child. “Ah,” she replied. “I guess you're trying to fit both training and study in then, huh?”

“Yeah,” the boy nodded, still yet to look her in the eye. “I just study one day a week, so it's not that bad, but it's why I need to get on top of my physics homework today.”

“Okay,” Bulma replied gently. “Well how about we find my mom first, and get her to cook you some nice lunch, and in the meantime I'll get cleaned up. Then we can go over your physics homework together.”

“Thanks Bulma.”

“No problem, kid,” she replied, only just remembering not to smudge grease through his hair.

.

Bulma pressed the heels of her hands into her back, trying to get the crick out of her spine. When it didn't work she sighed and stood up from the table, walking into the kitchen to get a drink. At nearly six in the evening, she needed a break from tutoring Gohan, and it was time for her to take her faithful little pill, anyway.

She glanced over at the young boy, smiling at the sight of him while she filled herself a glass of water. As the afternoon wore on he his eyes had begun to droop closed every now and then, and now it seemed that he had crashed completely as his head nodded forward towards the table, his chin resting on his chest.

She couldn't blame the poor thing. From what she could gather, Chi Chi and Goku had had a rare but serious argument over his future, and the boy had been stuck in the middle, wanting to please both his parents. He literally had the weight of the world on his small shoulders, training for the Androids with his dad, and on top of that his mother was making him study advanced subjects to fulfil her dream of him becoming a scholar. Bulma shook her head as she mulled over Chi Chi's approach to parenting, her hands moving on autopilot as she reached for her box of pills.

At that moment the door to the dining room flew open with a crash, startling her and making Gohan jump from his chair with a yell. Vegeta stormed in and grabbed the small boy by the front of his shirt, lifting the child high into the air.

“Vegeta!” Bulma yelled, leaving her glass and pills untouched on the kitchen bench. “Put him down!”

“He will spar with me in the chamber,” Vegeta sneered, his lips curling back to reveal his canines. “Do not interfere with my training, woman.” He turned abruptly, Gohan still hanging limply in his grasp, and headed for the gravity chamber once more.

“ _Vegeta!_ ” she screamed, following after him. Gohan flashed her a pensive look, but didn't attempt to fight the older Saiyan off, and she knew that she was the boy's only chance of getting out of the impromptu sparring session. “You can't just pick him up and order him around like that!”

“I can do what I like, woman! I am this half breed's Prince!” he yelled back, ignoring her.

“Argh!” she screeched. “You have training bots to spar with! That's what they're there for! Stop being such a big bully!”

“Your pathetic bots are worthless!”

“They are not!” she retorted, far too irritated to come up with something better. Red-faced and bristling with anger, she followed him to the capsule ship, though she was too late to prevent the door slamming shut on her. She spent the next ten minutes banging on the door, watching as poor Gohan, unused to the heavy gravity, struggled to stand, let alone fight. Her hand ached from slapping it against the heavy-duty glass, her skin was chilled from the winter air, and her throat was raw from screaming profanities at Vegeta.

“ _Fuck!_ ” she hissed. It was no use, she realised, to continue knocking on the glass window; Vegeta would simply continue to ignore her. The thought irritated her more than it should have, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes.  _You would think_ , she thought to herself,  _that the man you're sleeping with would have a little more respect for your opinion_.

It was obvious to her, however, that he did not. The realisation stung, burning in her throat.

Having exhausted all her other options, she gave up, decided to call Son kun.

.

Twenty minutes later she was still on the phone, cheeks flushed with fury as Chi Chi's voice screeched in her ear. Goku, on the other hand, stood outside the capsule ship, watching his son's spar with a grin on his face.

“Look.  _You_  sent him here!” she yelled back down the phone.

_“I didn't think you were that irresponsible, Bulma! Vegeta is a murderer! Those horrible men still give my little boy nightmares! He watched four of his allies die by that monster's hands!”_

“Vegeta is not a monster!” Bulma yelled back. “And this is the reality of marrying a fighter, Chi Chi! If you didn't want your son fighting, you should have never married Son kun!”

_“You butt out of my marriage! You have no idea what it's like!”_

“Oh, really? Because  _I_  actually went to Namek with your kid, y'know. If he didn't have to do so much homework on the trip over he might've been a little more prepared for what went on there! Did you think about that, huh?”

 _“You just wait until you have to watch your son fight some monster, and then you tell me how you feel!”_  Chi Chi snapped.

“ _I'm NOT_   _having kids!_ ” Bulma screamed down the phone. She pressed the `end call' button, and in a fury hurled the entire handset at the nearest wall. It crashed and shattered, leaving a dent in the wall as the broken pieces clattered on the tiled kitchen floor.

Her plans for the night entirely interrupted, she did not notice the cleaning bot that tipped out her untouched glass of water and threw away her uneaten pill.


	10. Nap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The soundtrack to the second half of this chapter is the song `Blackout' by Muse. I highly recommend playing it in the background while you read that section :) The prompt for this chapter was `nap' from the Earth Customs Challenge on the Blue & Black livejournal community.
> 
> Be warned, this is another M rated chapter. It wasn't NC-17 in my opinion, so I've left it as it is on both fanfiction(dot)net and mediaminer(dot)org.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

 

**Nap**

_She stood at the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the city lights that sparkled_   _in the dark streets_   _far below. The wind was cold and bit at her skin,_   _howling as it_   _tugged_   _at tendrils of her hair_   _before_   _whipping them back into her eyes._

 _She was afraid. She had spent years and years flying planes, but standing here, alone on the edge, she was afraid of falling. Forty storeys_   _high meant_   _that_   _the ground was a long way down, and in her head she knew_   _that if she fell_   _she would not survive._

 _Sirens rang out below. She gulped, and wondered how the hell she had ended up here, anyway. Hadn't she just been sitting in her office, snug and warm and away from the cold wind? Looking down at herself, she gasped, noticing for the first time that she was naked. She began to panic, wondering if paparazzi would snap her, standing naked on the edge of Capsule Corp HQ. What would the world say_   _about her now?_

_She wanted to step back, to get back to the safety of her office, but her feet were glued to the spot. She felt herself wavering in the wind, felt the tears running down her cheeks and the panicked gasps rising in her chest. “Help!” she cried. “I'm trapped! I'm scared!”_

_“Woman,”_   _a voice whispered from_   _somewhere behind her. She tried to turn, but couldn't, and a sob rose in her throat._

_“Vegeta!” she cried. “Help me! I don't want to die!”_

_“Then why are you standing on the edge, woman?” he asked, suddenly floating in front of her. His eyes glowed in the moonlight, his teeth_   _flashed, sharp and white._   _“If you put yourself in a dangerous situation such as this, you should expect the consequences that will follow,”_   _he told her seriously._

_“But I don't know how I got here!” she yelled above the howling wind. It was so strong now that it pushed her further over the ledge, and she whimpered._

_“You do, woman,” Vegeta replied, hovering in the air. He was so close she could almost touch him. She reached out, trying desperately to_   _reach_   _his warm skin. She was so cold._

_“This is your choice,” Vegeta told her, moving further away._

_“No!” she_   _shrieked. “Vegeta!_   _If I fall, will you catch me?”_

_“No.”_

_“But I love you!” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks._

_Vegeta flew forward once more, close enough to touch. She placed her hands on his bare chest, leaning into his warmth, sighing as his arms wrapped around her._

_“I knew you would save me,” she told him, smiling up at his face as_   _his feet touched down on the roof beside her own._

_He glared back at her, his eyes glowing red and his teeth growing sharper, longer. “No!” he growled, his lips pulled back in a horrid snarl, “I will not!”_

_His hands shoved hard at her back, pushing her over the edge. Over her own screams she could hear his maniacal laughter as the ground rushed closer and closer -_

Bulma gasped, jerking awake, her heartbeat thudding in her ears at a frantic place. Disorientated, it took her a moment to realise where she was- lying on the ottoman in her office- and what she had been doing- taking a nap on her lunch break. Still feeling shaken- she  _hated_  those dreams where she fell from high places- she brought a hand to her face, and was surprised to find that it was wet with tears.

Rain poured and thunder boomed outside as she stood, glancing at the clock on the wall. Pushing all thoughts of her dream aside, she sat back at her desk, forcing herself to work the afternoon away.

.

The rain was still pouring when she parked her car outside the Capsule Corp compound. Staring out the window, she slumped back in her seat, feeling too drained to get out and make a run for the shelter of her home.

She watched as fat raindrops rolled down the windowpane, thinking about her odd, disturbing dream. She knew better than to put a great deal of meaning into a stupid nightmare, and yet she couldn't shake the feeling of dread in her gut. Vegeta's hands on her back, pushing her off the building, replayed in her head, and she shivered. He would never do that to her, she was sure of it. He would never harm her, and yet…

He had harmed many,  _so many_ , in his lifetime.

She took a single, deep breath, pushing the air back out her nose with a huff. The windows were beginning to fog, obscuring the grey world outside.

 _Would Vegeta save_   _me, if_   _I_   _fell?_

The question taunted her, sent chills running up her spine and left her feeling restless. She shook her head, wondering what had become of her, for now she was tied in knots over a man who showed her so little affection in return.

She lifted a finger to the fogged windowpane, slowly drawing a sad face in the glass. Her eyes focused on the capsule ship, standing alone on the lawn, and her chest twisted painfully.

She opened the car door quickly, slamming it shut behind her. She ignored the rain, letting it soak through her clothes as she walked across the grass to the ship. Her heels sunk into the grass, and she kicked them off, opting to walk barefoot through the mud. By the time she reached the ship's door her hair hung limp, dripping with moisture, but she didn't care.

The door began to open as she lifted her fist to knock. She threw herself at Vegeta as soon as he came into view, crushing her cold lips against his warm mouth. He responded quickly, his strong arms pulling her flush against him as his tongue slipped between her parted lips, his erection already pressing hard against her thigh.

She shivered against him, allowing him to pull off her drenched clothing. The door of the ship, set on automatic timer, slipped closed with a hiss as her bra fell to the floor, followed quickly by their remaining pieces of clothing. They fell to the floor too, ending up on their knees. Vegeta's large hands gripped her waist, lifting her slightly, positioning herself against him so that with one slow push, he slid within her easily. She hissed in his ear as he sat back on his legs, her own legs straddling his lap as they rocked together slowly.

“Look at me,” she demanded, her hands tangling in his hair. His eyes slid to meet hers, his pupils, just a shade darker than his black irises, visible in the fluorescent light of the ship.

She kissed him then, throwing as much passion, as much love as she could into her movements. She stroked his face, his neck, his chest and body, her eyes never leaving his as he moved within her. It was her final undoing; her acceptance that she had given up. She had fallen in love with this man, she realised. She loved him more, more than she had loved anything else before.

She buried her face in his neck, clutching onto him for dear life. Her eyes burnt with tears that threatened to burst free, and her heart ached in her chest. She was terrified of her feelings for him, simply because they were so strong, and things between them were so uncertain.

“Vegeta,” she whispered in his ear, moaning as he shifted again, sending tendrils of pleasure up her spine. “Vegeta!”

The rain battered heavily against the ship, the storm outside growing. She ignored it, ignored everything apart from  _him_. He filled her senses with his smell, his taste, his touch, and his voice. She bent her head back, forcing him to look at her, to watch her as they writhed together.

“Vegeta!” she cried.  _Love me. Love me!_

He kissed her fiercely, muffling her shrieks of pleasure, groaning into her mouth has he too came undone.

 _Love me_   _as I love you_ , she begged silently, her head pressed against his shoulder.


	11. Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a really short one, written using the prompt `sound' from the Senses Challenge on Blue & Black. I was listening to Exogenesis Symphony part 3 (Redemption) by Muse while writing this one.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Sound**

She hadn't wanted to believe it.

In fact, she'd been so shocked that for a few weeks she'd tried to ignore that she had ever taken the damn test. They weren't always accurate, right? But the morning sickness had continued, her breasts had ached terribly, and in her heart she had known that it was true.

How she hid it from Vegeta, she didn't know. He had always seemed so in tune with her body, his Saiyan senses picking up on her moods easily, and yet he showed no sign of knowing that a child,  _their child_ , was growing within her.

She'd hid it from her parents, too. She couldn't bear to tell them until she knew  _for sure_. And so she'd booked an appointment with the radiographer, having worked out herself- counting backwards to her last period- that she was around seven weeks along.

She lay nervously in the radiographer's room, watching as the he prepared the ultrasound equipment. Her skin prickled as the nurse on hand lifted her gown, squeezing out the pale green gel onto her belly. “It's a bit cold at first,” the young nurse apologised, flashing her a friendly smile.

“That it is,” the radiographer agreed, smiling at her with kind, aged eyes. “It's natural to feel nervous, dear,” he added, patting her hand. “Now let's just see what you have hiding in there...”

And there is was. Even before the radiographer pointed it out, she could see the oval on the screen- her baby- and could see the quick flashing of the baby's heartbeat.

“I'll just turn up the sound,” the radiographer smiled gently.

“Oh! Oh Kami!” Bulma gasped, hearing for the first time the quick  _thadump, thadump, thadump_  of the baby's heartbeat. Tears ran silently down her cheeks and she sniffled, gratefully taking a tissue from the nurse.

_Thadump, thadump, thudump, thudump, thudump, thudump, thudump, thudump, thudump, thudump..._

It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.


	12. Touch II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've used the prompt `touch' before, but it is also part of the Senses Challenge on the Blue & Black LJ community, and thinking about the word today finally helped me to develop this scene, which I had been agonizing over for the past few days.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Touch II**

Bulma had told herself that she would inform Vegeta of the news as soon as she returned home from the radiologist's practice.

That had been the plan.

It was not  _her_  fault, she mused as they tangled themselves in her sheets, that Vegeta happened to be a horny bastard who jumped her at every opportunity. After all, how could she tell him that she was pregnant when he had his tongue down her throat? Still, she felt the tiniest bit guilty as they made love, especially when his hand brushed over her stomach, caressing the smooth skin around her navel.

The guilt increased ten-fold when they lay finished side-by-side, his shoulder tucked under her neck so that his arm curled around her and his hand cupped her breast. The room was silent apart from their breathing, and Bulma did her best to calm herself. But the sick feeling of guilt and fear- though thankfully not morning sickness- swirled in her belly and wrapped around her chest as if it were a physical thing, constricting her, squashing her flat.

Vegeta's hand dipped lower, the feather-light touch of his fingertips brushing a path down past her navel. Her heart beat frantically as his hand flattened knowingly across her lower abdomen, and, unable to stop herself, her eyes darted sideways to gauge his expression.

He stared back at her, unamused.

“Your pills didn't work, woman,” he spoke softly, his voice nothing more than a gravelly whisper.

A chill ran down her spine. “I know,” she whispered back. “I had it confirmed today.”

He didn't seem mad. She swallowed the spittle in her mouth and rolled closer to him, pressing herself against the side of his body. His hand lingered on her hip, brushing slowly up and down.

“How did you know?” she whispered, her eyes closed as she took a deep breath, inhaling his spicy scent.

“It has a ki,” he whispered after a moment. “It's strong. Far stronger than you.”

“How long have you…?” she trailed off.

“Weeks.”

“You never said anything,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.

“What is there to say?” he replied flatly. She opened her eyes wide as he shifted, pulling away from her. She watched him in silence as he stood, her eyes following him across the room while he dressed.

This calm, quiet reaction- this  _revelation_  that he had known just as long as she had- was not what she had expected. It unnerved her. She could yell back at an angry Vegeta, but when he remained silent like this, it was as if he was refusing all communication with her completely. Her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth, and she struggled to get any words out.

“We can talk about this!” she whispered urgently as he opened her balcony door, preparing to leave.

He froze, not bothering to turn around.

“I have nothing to say about the matter, woman,” he told her quietly. She watched, wide-eyed, as he stepped out onto the balcony and took to the air.

The sickness in her stomach returned as she realised that he just  _didn't care_. He didn't give a shit that she was pregnant with his baby.

She ran into her bathroom, and spent the next ten minutes hunched over the toilet bowl.


	13. Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The prompt for this chapter was `sight' from the Senses Challenge on the Blue & Black LJ community. As always, I previously underestimated the number of chapters this fic will have. According to my latest plans, there should be around 18 chapters, but I wouldn't be surprised if it hit 20. I've written a few of them already, so it's just a matter of filling in the gaps :)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Sight**

Vegeta returned to Capsule Corporation two days after their short-lived conversation, but didn't even bother to set foot inside the main building. Instead, he went straight back to his training in the capsule ship, which irritated Bulma to no end.

“Jerk,” she muttered to herself, passing by one of the large windows that looked out over the back lawn and the ship that sat there. She could see intermittent flashes of light through the small ship windows, and rolled her eyes, wondering how many bots he would have piled up for repair by the end of the day. With a sigh she glanced at the clock on the wall- it read ten-thirty-five- and headed back down the hall, cup of coffee in her hand, to return to her work.

On her way down to her private lab she passed her father, who was no doubt taking his own morning coffee break. “Limiting your caffeine intake, daughter?” he asked, peering at her over the rim of his glasses. She rolled her eyes, lifting her cup out to him.

“It's decaf, Dad.”

The old scientist screwed up his nose as he got a whiff of the stuff. “Foul liquid,” he muttered, but nodded approvingly at her anyway. “The sacrifices we make for our children, eh?” he smiled, before continuing down the hall.

She shook her head, suddenly thankful that her parents were so laid back. They, at least, would be there to support her during and after pregnancy, and had thought nothing bad about the news that she had let a homicidal alien impregnate her.

 _At least you have grandparents who love you_ , she thought to the little one inside her, her hand rubbing her still-smooth stomach. She paused, suddenly realising that the baby would only ever know one set of grandparents, and her thoughts turned to Vegeta once more, feeling sympathetic for the man who was orphaned at such a young age.

.

The gravity machine inside the ship was still humming when she entered the kitchen at midnight, looking for a snack before bed. Now that she was pregnant, her appetite had definitely increased. Cutting herself a large piece of chocolate cake, she mused that the  _I'm eating for two_  excuse was definitely one of the benefits of pregnancy.

.

“Mom,” she asked, two days later, “have you seen Vegeta take any breaks?”

“Oh no, dear,” the older woman replied, fluffing at her golden curls. “Your father just told me that he checked the ship's stats, and that machine has been running non-stop for three days! That  _poor_  Vegeta works so hard! You're so lucky to have such a man, Bulma!”

“We're not together, Mom,” she said, frowning out the living room window. “He doesn't want anything to do with the baby.”

“Nonsense!” her mother replied, her wide smile never faltering. “He's out there training to save you two, isn't he? If it weren't for him,” she added with a giggle, “I'd be worried that we might all die next year!”

Bulma blinked. Only her mother could talk about impending doom with such enthusiasm.

.

The midnight snacks were becoming a bad habit. She padded quietly past her parent's bedroom, and made her way to the kitchen downstairs, chocolate cake once more on her mind. She stopped short, however, as her eyes focused on something disconcerting in the dark outside. The red light from within the capsule ship glowed out through its small port windows, giving the entire spacecraft an eerie, pink glow. But it was the single, unmoving foot that she could see through one of the windows that scared her.

“Shit!” she hissed, running down another flight of stairs and through the door that led outside, ignoring the cold night air that breezed beneath her flimsy pyjamas.

She ran across the lawn, heading straight for one of the ship's small windows. She could hear the gravity machine within the ship running, and she sent a small prayer to Kami that Vegeta would be all right. Her worst fears, however, were only confirmed when she peered through the ship's window. Vegeta lay prone on the floor, awake and grimacing in pain, while his leg jutted out from his body at an impossible angle, the bones clearly broken. The sight alone was enough to make her feel sick, but she forced back the bile that rose in her throat, and focused her sight on the gravity controls.

She stepped back from the ship, bending over as she threw up on the lawn. “Oh Kami,” she groaned, forcing herself to straighten. The gravity was still running at 450 times, and she had only one way of making it stop.

She risked once more glance through the window, and her eyes met Vegeta's. “I'm going to turn it off!” she yelled. “Give me ten minutes! Can you hold on for that long? !” She knew enough about fighters to know that injured as he was, he'd be using all his ki just to stop himself from being squashed under the extreme gravity.

He nodded minutely, his face still pulled in a painful grimace. She wasted no more time, and ran for her lab.

.

She set her lamp up just underneath the capsule ship, before crawling under the spacecraft herself. It was a tight fit- the ship's legs held the base of the ship only three feet off the ground, forcing her to remain on her hands and knees- and in the dark it was difficult to locate the particular panel she was looking for. The grass below her was damp and cold, and insects fluttered in the artificial light from her lamp and head torch, but she ignored the less than ideal conditions and focused only on what she had to do.

The ship's gravity controls ran on an independent system, meaning that there was only two ways to shut the gravity off; by pressing the controls inside the ship- which Vegeta clearly could not do in his broken state- or by disabling the circuitry that powered the gravity machine.

“What the fuck,” she hissed, doing her best to unscrew the only outside panel that gave her access to the intricate circuit boards. “Should have been more prepared for something like this...” she muttered, grunting as the panel finally came free. She couldn't quite understand why they hadn't installed a panic button to shut down the machine from the outside in the first place.

Once the heavy panel was off, it was not difficult to isolate one of the vital components in the gravity machine's circuitry. It took no more than a minute to loosen the component enough to shut the machine down, and she sighed, laying flat back in the grass to catch her breath, as she heard the engine whir to a stop.

She rolled onto her hands and knees, quickly crawling out from under the ship. She got to her feet and made her way around to the ship's door, peering through the adjacent window.

Vegeta lay flat on his back, his bare chest rising and falling quickly with gasping breaths. She avoided looking at his broken leg, not wishing to be sick again, and banged on the glass window, catching his attention.

“You've locked the door, so I can't open it!” she yelled. “I have a senzu for you, but you have to open the door yourself!”

She bit her lip, wincing as Vegeta sat up slowly, roaring in pain. Stepping away from the ship, she paced back and forth, only taking the odd peek inside to check Vegeta's progress as he slowly dragged himself across the ship's floor, leaving a bloody path in his wake.

Eventually the agonizing wait was over, and she heard the airlock begin to hiss open. She ran inside as soon as the door's opening was big enough to fit through, and fell to her knees beside Vegeta's slumped form.

“Vegeta,” she whispered, picking up his head gently as his eyes fluttered open. They focused on her, his pupils dilating under the glowing lights that shone above them.

Wasting no time, she pressed the senzu bean to his lips, feeling thankful that Krillin had given her the bean after hearing about the last incident with the gravity room. Vegeta opened his mouth and chewed the bean slowly, and she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed the medicine. In less than a second he shot up, rising to a sitting position so fast that to Bulma it appeared as if he had used Goku's instant transmission technique.

“Is your leg okay?” she asked once she had gotten over the shock of his sudden movement. He nodded once, avoiding her gaze, and she watched as he straightened both his legs in front of him, no trace of the debilitating injury left on his body.

She bit her lip as she peered at his serious face. Physically he seemed fine, but she could tell that the incident had shaken his confidence, and had no doubt bruised his pride. Hesitantly, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You push yourself too hard, you know,” she said gently.

“I have to be a Super Saiyan!” he hissed, violently shrugging her hand from his shoulder. She sighed, knowing that berating him further was of no use, and got to her feet.

“I'll fix the machine up tomorrow,” she told him quietly. “I had to mess with the circuitry.”

He nodded once more, refusing to look at her. She left him sitting there in the ship, trusting that he would work through the issues in his mind, and headed back to bed.

She felt more than a little shaken up herself.

.

When Vegeta entered her room the following night, she didn't turn him away. She didn't press any talk about the baby, either. The Androids were coming in just over a year, and she could see the pressure of it on his face, in the way he moved, and in the desperation that he brought to their lovemaking. It was that pressure which had caused him to train too hard the night before, and she was willing to believe that it was the same pressure that had made him dismiss her news about the baby. She gave him the benefit of the doubt, and the satisfaction of release selflessly, understanding suddenly just how much he needed it, needed _her_ , even if he couldn't say it out loud.

He had a lot on his mind, after all, and they had only a little time left before the prophesised end of the world.

It would have been foolish to waste it.


	14. Cuddling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The prompt for this chapter was `cuddling' from the Earth Customs Challenge. I just want to thank everyone who has reviewed so far. I really appreciate all your comments :)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Cuddling**

The sun hung low in the sky, and its rays shone gently through the pale mesh curtains that adorned Bulma's balcony doors, bathing her bedroom in a warm, golden glow. The curtains themselves shifted in the breeze, and Bulma felt thankful for the fact that the worst of summer was already past. Now that she was pregnant, she seemed to feel everything more, including the heat.

“I just had to get pregnant in the year with the highest recorded humidity in West City's history,” she grumbled, shifting into a more comfortable position on her bed. She heard a snort in reply from behind her.

“For once I agree with you woman,” Vegeta said, his voice sounding both more relaxed and huskier than usual. “This planet is foul.”

“It is  _not_ ,” she laughed breathlessly, her bare skin prickling as Vegeta drew a path down her spine with his finger. She lay on her side, running her hand over the round, growing bump of her belly, still unable to fathom that in less than four months she would have a living, breathing baby in her arms. She sighed in contentment and smiled against her pillow, feeling more than a little satiated by the events of the last hour.

The bed dipped under her as Vegeta shifted closer still, wrapping his naked body around hers. She sighed again, shifting further back into him in order to enjoy the rare sensation of him spooning her. Turning her head, she smiled against his mouth as his lips met her halfway in a slow, languorous kiss that she broke only when her neck began to feel sore from the movement.

“Mmmm,” she breathed, nestling her head back into her pillow. “I feel  _good._ ”

Vegeta's hand continued where it had left off, tracing paths up and down her body and over her swollen breasts before skimming down her side and over her hips, his fingers dipping expertly between her legs, and then further, between her sensitive folds. She groaned, shifting against him, and heard him sigh behind her ear as he pulled his hand away. She pouted as the bed shifted once more, watching him as he as he rose to a sitting position.

“Don't go yet,” she moaned, grabbing at the one part of his anatomy that was bound to make him pause. He grunted in surprise, and she laughed, delighted to have caught him off guard.

“Unlike  _some_  people, I have something important to do,” he told her with a sneer, grabbing at her wrist and disengaging her fingers from himself.

“Oh, loosen up!” she replied, rolling her eyes and pushing at his thigh playfully. “You know there isn't any harm in cuddling every once in a while, Vegeta.”

His snort of disgust had her smiling. “You are  _insane_ , woman, and completely delusional,” he quipped, climbing off the bed and reaching for his clothes. She watching him appreciatively, memorising the way his muscles shifted under his bronze skin, her eyes lingering on his ass.

It was at that moment that  _someone_  nudged her, and she hummed with pure joy, amazed as always by the life growing inside her. “Vegeta, come here,” she whispered, as if speaking too loudly would halt the movements within her body, and smoothed a hand down over the curve of her belly. On cue, she felt an answering nudge against the palm of her hand.

She glanced quickly back up at Vegeta, before focusing on her stomach once more. “Quickly!” she whispered urgently. “You'll miss it! He's kicking! The movements are stronger this time, too.”

In her excitement she almost missed the odd mood rolling off Vegeta. His silence, however, made her look up once more, to see him staring at her belly with an undecipherable expression on his face.

“Vegeta -”

“I have training to do, woman,” he spoke flatly, pulling the new armour she had made for him over his torso.

“Oh come on,” she grumbled, pushing herself off the bed, dragging a bed sheet with her as a makeshift robe. “Don't you want to feel your little Super Saiyan practice his kicks?”

She realised, however, that she had said the wrong thing. Vegeta's glare was dark, and his lips curled back in a vicious snarl. “The legendary transformation of the Saiyan race is  _not_  something to joke about, you stupid bitch!” he growled, his fists clenching in anger.

She frowned, her gut twisting as her own anger rose. “How dare-”

“Your foetus means  _nothing_  to me!” he hissed, cutting her off. “Do not presume to order me, the Prince of Saiyans, around!” He turned abruptly, storming out of the room. She followed hot on his heels, stopping outside the entrance to her room.

“I wasn't, you pig-headed jerk!” she screamed down the hall, watching his retreating form as she clutched the bed sheet to her chest. She retreated back into her room, slamming the door behind her, though it did little to abate the anger that now roiled in her gut.

“Stupid dick,” she muttered. The sheet around her smelled of sweat and sex and Vegeta, and she dropped it in disgust.

“Fuck,” she spat, and headed for her bathroom.


	15. Sad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The prompt for this chapter was `sad' from the Mood Swings Challenge on the Blue & Black LJ community.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

 

**Sad**

_“I decided to continue my training in the solitude of space, where I would be unhindered by the distractions of the Earth.”_   _-Vegeta,_   _Episode 129, Funimation dub._

The sight of her father running checks on the capsule ship's launch equipment made her heart skip a beat, her hands automatically moving to rest on her rounded belly. She told herself not to worry, not to jump to conclusions, but in her heart she already knew the truth.

Vegeta was leaving.

She forced down the sick feeling in her gut, and focused on remaining calm. Stress wasn't good for the baby, but no matter how many deep breaths she took, she couldn't slow her heart rate.  _You knew this was coming_ , she told herself, but it did no good.

Glancing once more out the window, her eyes focused on the lone figure standing on the lawn. Vegeta's silhouette stood out, black in the fading light, looking as cold and hard as a statue. She felt bitter and angry, knowing that he was leaving to go back to wherever he came from, while she would be here alone, giving birth to his son.

She padded down the hall, still holding her belly, and took the stairs down to the ground level of the compound. The back door hung open, and she stepped barefoot onto the grass outside, the air of a cool summer night tasting sweet on her tongue.

Vegeta didn't acknowledge her as she drew up beside him, pausing so that they stood side-by-side, no more than a few inches apart. He continued to stare up at the first emerging stars as she examined his face, his features all the more harsh in the dim evening light.

“You're leaving,” she stated quietly, focusing on keeping her voice calm and even.

“Yes.”

“You'll miss the baby being born,” she said quickly, unable to hide the accusation in her voice. Vegeta turned to stare at her, his eyes hard and cold, his mouth turned down in a frown.

“There are more important things than you and your blasted child,” he replied with contempt.

“He's your child too,” she pressed. “I don't see why you can't just continue to train here.”

“Because you are a distraction!” he roared suddenly, making her jump. She grit her teeth, pushing away the hurt and forcing herself to remain as cold as the man beside her always seemed to be.

“Vegeta - ”

“I am sick of your incessant presence,” he sneered, cutting her off. “I will train far better in space, away from this mud ball and all its ridiculous temptations.”

“Oh, so  _that's_  it,” she hissed, finally snapping, and poked him hard in the chest. “You're blaming  _me_  for everything, and after all I've done for you! Well let's just see how long your precious gravity machine lasts in space, huh? I wouldn't be surprised if you blow the whole thing up again and end up killing yourself! Well just go, see if I care! I doubt you'll even come back to fight the androids. You'll just abandon us all, just like you abandoned Goku out on the battlefield when he fought Ginyu!” She saw real anger glint in his eyes then, but continued ranting, regardless. “That's right,” she hissed, poking him once more, “I heard about that, you ass!”

“I should kill you for your insolence,” he ground out between clenched teeth, fists shaking at his sides.

“Well go on then,” she spat back, tilting her chin higher as she glared daggers at him. “Kill me and your unborn baby. Be a monster.” Her heart twisted painfully, and she knew it showed on her face and in her wavering voice. “Just know this; I've  _seen_  a different side to you, and I  _know_  you could be better. You could be so much more than what you allow yourself to be.”

“You are a fool,” he sneered.

“So are you,” she whispered, suddenly too tired to fight. He was going, and there was nothing she could say or do to stop him. She turned on her heel, and left him outside, alone.

She held the tears at bay for as long as possible, and when that failed she slipped into an empty room, slumped against the closed door, and cried.


	16. Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The prompt for this was `kiss' from the Intimacy Challenge.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Kiss**

Bulma eyed the packet of chocolate biscuits that sat on the coffee table, weighing up whether the pleasure of eating them was worth the hassle of getting up off the couch to fetch the treats. Sighing, she decided that it wasn't, and relaxed further back into the chair she lay across.

“How is your back today, dear?” her mother asked, tottering into the room on high heels. Bulma glared at her mother's shoes; it had been months since she had been able to squeeze her feet into anything similar.

“Crap,” she pouted. “I can't get comfy. Can you do me a favour, and pass me those biscuits?” she asked, pointing at the coffee table.

“Of course, sweetie!” her mother smiled, rushing over to her. “Would you like me to fix you a better lunch? Or how about some tea? Or orange juice? Or -”

“Juice would be fine, Mom,” Bulma cut in, saving her mother from reciting the entire kitchen's inventory. She took a bite out of one of the biscuits, the packet now clutched possessively in her hand, and savoured the taste of chocolate as she listened to her mother chatter away.

 _“… and I was telling Stacy that I am so excited to meet my grandson! Only two more weeks to go!_   _`Oh, but it could be any day now,' I said, `because Bulma's gotten so big!' And then she said…”_

Bulma pouted, staring down at her belly. She felt like an ungraceful whale. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back, imagining what it would be like to be skinny again. And to be able to breathe properly. And to have feet that didn't hurt and actually fit into her old shoes.

She felt like a ticking time bomb, despite the fact that her doctor had told her it looked unlikely that the baby would be born this week. Her sheer size alone would have stopped her from going out, but the added factor of all the paparazzi that now swarmed outside her family's compound, hoping to get a shot of her eight and a half month belly, meant that she hadn't left the grounds in over two weeks.

“The hoverjet is fuelled and packed, right?” she asked, lifting her head to look at her mother. The older woman turned to look at her, blinking.

“What was that, dear?”

“The hoverjet. It's packed and fuelled, right?”

“Of course dear!” her mother replied. “Your father did that right before he left on that business trip- He'll be back tomorrow night, by the way. Everything is ready for your trip to the hospital, so don't you worry yourself at all! You just focus on relaxing and saving your energy for the big day!”

Bulma snorted. “Yeah.”

.

Bulma looked at the clock for the tenth time in as many minutes- it read eleven twenty three- and dialled her mother's phone number again. The phone cut straight to the voicemail, and she hung up, irritated, and just a little bit worried.

She reached for the remote and switched on the TV, flicking through the channels for something to distract her. Her mother had only gone to the mall to pick up a few extra baby supplies, and she told herself that it wouldn't be long before the woman returned. Still flicking, she went past the news channel, then backtracked as her mind registered the importance of the news item.

 _“… thirteen car pile-up on the_   _North-western_   _Motorway means traffic will be at a standstill for at least another four hours, authorities say, as they work to clear the debris off the road. The fires have_   _now_   _all been extinguished, and reports indicate that although some have been seriously injured, miraculously there have been no casualties as a result of this accident. We now cross live to Janice, who is standing just outside the north western's main tunnel.”_

The image changed from the crash scene itself- Bulma was relieved that she did not recognise any of the cars involved- to an attractive female reporter, surrounded by two lanes of traffic at a standstill.

 _“Yes, as you can see, I'm standing about a_   _mile_   _before the actual crash, and traffic is backed up for miles behind me. What is making the wait even harder for many drivers is the fact that those stuck waiting within the tunnel have no phone reception, and are unable to contact their friends and family to explain what is going on.”_

The image flashed back to the news reader in the news room.  _“Can you tell me Janice, has anyone left their vehicle and chosen to walk out of the tunnel?”_

 _“Well,”_  Janice began,  _“ that was the case at first, but as you can see, Police are present behind me, and they have ordered everyone to remain within their vehicles in order to maintain public safety. It is an unfortunate situation, but as reported earlier, authorities are working as hard as they can to clear the road as soon as possible.”_

Bulma switched of the television, and stood up slowly. She tried calling her mother one last time, but it was no use. She shook her head, taking a deep breath to calm herself.  _Of all the days this could happen_ , she thought. Her mother was most likely stuck in the North-western's tunnel, which stretched for a mile back through West City. Her father was probably somewhere in the air over the Southern Ocean right now, and wouldn't be back until after eleven tonight.

Another pain began to build, more intense this time.

She was in labour.

.

They had never planned to drive to the hospital, due to all the paparazzi that would no doubt get in their way at every traffic light. Instead, they had packed her bags into a small hover jet, having already arranged with the hospital to land safely on the roof, away from the spying eyes of rogue photographers.

The hoverjet's capsule in hand, she made her way downstairs and outside, wrapping her cardigan further around her. Popping the capsule open, she waited for the smoke to clear, before pulling the pilot's door open and peering inside.

“Kami damnit,” she hissed under her breath, looking at the pilot's chair. She had kept her fingers crossed, but it hadn't helped. There was no denying the fact that, at the size she was, she would never fit safely behind the controls. Another contraction began, and she leaned against the vehicle, moaning in pain.

When the contraction subsided, she reached for her phone, scrolling through her contacts for the man she had always relied on in the past. She bit her lip as she brought the phone to her ear and listened to it ring, wondering how awkward the conversation would be, and hoping like hell that he would help her now.

 _“Hello,”_  he answered, his voice as smooth as she remembered it to be.

“Yamcha,” she began, “I need your help.”

.

He landed on the lawn in front of her, and she watched as his eyes scanned over her form. He looked good; he'd cut his hair short, and it suited him, making him look older, more mature. His jeans and black leather jacket, worn over a plain grey shirt, looked good too.

Their eyes met, and she could see he was hurt from the way he clenched his jaw. “Bulma,” he began, running a hand back through his cropped hair. “How the hell did you let him do this to you?”

She snorted. “You make me sound like I'm some kind of victim,” she said, frowning up at Yamcha. “I'm not. Vegeta and I chose to sleep together, and for some reason or another, the pill didn't work.” She shrugged. “I just need you to fly this jet to the hospital for me, okay? I can't fit behind the wheel.”

“So you said,” Yamcha replied, stepping forward. The hardness in his dark brown eyes faded as he took a closer look at her face, and she wondered what she looked like to him, now. Afraid? Terrified? He reached out, placing a hand gently on her arm. “Let me help you in the passenger side, B,” he told her, his voice soft and placating.

She opened her mouth to reply- with what, she didn't quite know- but all that came out was a moan as another contraction began. She heard Yamcha cry her name as she leaned forward, bracing her forearms against his chest, and hissed through her clenched teeth.

“It's okay,” she hissed, adding, “ _Fuckthishurtslikeabitch_.”

“I don't know anything about labour!” Yamcha cried, and she recognised the first signs of panic rising in his voice.

“Just… ssshhut up,” she grunted, head down as she breathed out through her nose.  _Deep breaths_ , she told herself, wishing she'd actually gone to some Lamaze classes. The pain began to subside, and she groaned, wondering whether it was in Shenron's powers to just let her fast-forward to the part where they place the baby in your arms. She felt Yamcha's hands settle on her back, and she shivered.

“Just get me to the hospital,” she moaned.

.

She sat in silence in the aircraft's passenger seat, staring straight ahead. Keeping her eyes trained on the horizon was no use; she was still unable to ignore the quick, furtive glances that Yamcha shot her way every now and then.

“ _What?_ ” she snapped, catching him mid-glance. He flushed and made a small, choked sound, his head snapping back to stare out the windscreen. The private hospital was on the other side of West City, and Bulma's eyes darted down at the skyscrapers passing by below. Another ten minutes and they'd be there…

“I just…” Yamcha began, trailing off with an audible gulp. Bulma's irritated frown softened as she watched him slump in his seat with a sigh, looking defeated.

“You just…?” she prompted gently. He didn't reply, didn't look at her at all, but merely shook his head slowly, as if dismayed. She shifted in her seat, hoping another contraction wouldn't begin before they landed, and wondered briefly if she should have booked herself in for a caesarean, where she could have avoided this mad rush and awkward reliance on Yamcha.  _Of all the times for_   _Mama_   _to get stuck in traffic…_  She shook her head, placing a hand on her belly. She hadn't wanted a scar from a c-section.

The thought of scars made her think of Vegeta's bronze, marred skin, and she gnawed her lip.  _Damn Saiyan._

“I keep wondering why we never worked out,” Yamcha said suddenly, jerking her out of her reverie. “I think about it all the time.”

“Maybe we would have, if you hadn't taken so many other women on dates,” she replied tersely.

Yamcha huffed in irritation. “They weren't dates, Bulma,” he said defensively. “They were simple catch-ups with friends. You take everything way too seriously som -”

“They were  _dates_ , Yamcha!” she yelled, losing her temper. “I'm in  _labour_ , you jerk! Can't you be a little more sympathetic and  _at least_  tell me the  _truth?_ ”

“I  _am_ , damnit!” he yelled back, slamming a fist down on the steering wheel, hard enough that she felt the vibration through her seat. He looked at her, caught sight of the expression on her face, and made a pained look.

“Damn it, Bulma,” he groaned, looking back out the windscreen. “I would have taken care of you. I would have married you, you know.” She watched his face, heard the crack in his voice as it twisted in pain. “I loved you, B, and I would've given you babies, and marriage, and…” He shook his head, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Damn those Androids! Damn those  _fucking_  Androids! If it weren't for them, and all this  _training_ , I swear I would have been there for you, and Vegeta wouldn't have!”

She blinked, gasping as she realised she was crying, tears running freely down her cheeks. “Damn hormones,” she muttered as Yamcha turned to her once more, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of her.

“Fuck, B,” he said, looking sorry. “ _Shit_. I didn't… I didn't mean to make you cry! What kind of man makes a woman in labour  _cry?_ ” he asked, voice rising in horror.

His panic- so classically Yamcha- made her laugh, and she brushed the tears away with the back of her hand.

“There's no use for what-ifs, Yamcha,” she said softly. “What's done is done. But I could do with a friend right now,” she added, looking at him in the eye, challenging him to put the past behind them.

“I'm a friend,” he replied softly. She watched as he nodded once, gulping. “I'm a friend,” he repeated, stronger this time. His face settled into something akin to the battle-ready expression she had seen on his features a hundred times before. “I've got your back, B,” he told her, and she knew he told the truth.

.

Yamcha was surprisingly good at handling the situation. From the hospital's helipad he carried her down to the maternity wing reception, helped fill out paperwork while she was set up in a spacious room of her own, answered  _“No, I'm not the father, just a good friend,”_  countless times, and then spent the next four hours at her bedside, holding her hand and coaching her through contractions until her mother arrived.

She told him to leave then, but he stayed, hovering in the hallway, bringing her ice, and calling her father with an update every hour.

When her mother grabbed coffee break, he took up the seat by her bedside again, surrendering his hand to her death grip as another contraction struck. It was some time past midnight, and as the pain subsided once more, she met his eyes in the dim light.

“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely.

Yamcha kissed her hand. “I told you, I've got your back,” he replied. “That's what friends are for.”


	17. Sharing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was written for the prompt `sharing' in the Earth Customs Challenge on the Blue & Black livejournal community. Thank you to everyone who has left a review/comment. Just knowing that people enjoy this story really makes me happy :)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

 

**Sharing**

She sat down gingerly in her lab chair, doing her best not to jostle the tiny infant in her arms. To her relief, the baby continued to sleep soundly, and she paused, taking a moment- as she had done so a hundred times over the past few days- to marvel at his tiny hands that curled into fists, at his little pink mouth and button nose, and at his fluffy brown tail that curled itself around her arm whenever she held him.

“What a gorgeous little man you are,” she whispered, planting a kiss on his head, breathing in his sweet baby scent. He was perfect, and he was hers.

She sighed, one hand reaching for the computer mouse. He was also someone else's son, and she took one last breath before clicking open the computer programme that would establish a direct link to Vegeta's ship.

The light on her webcam blinked from red to green, and an image of the inside of the ship flashed open on her screen. She sat, holding her breath, as her eyes searched for any sign of Vegeta. She saw a blur of blue and black, and leaned forward, trusting the microphone to pick up her voice.

“Vegeta.”

Suddenly he materialised in the middle of the ship's floor, his eyes glaring angrily through the screen. He stepped forward, striding slowly across the floor, his image growing larger as he moved closer to the camera.

They had not spoken since the night he had left, and she bit her lower lip, suddenly at a loss over where to start. She saw his eyes drop lower, and realised that of course, he would be watching his sleeping son through the screen.

“I don't mean to interrupt your training for long,” she said, looking directly at her webcam. She spoke quietly, but with strength in her voice, proud to show him the child that she had carried- that they had made. “I just wanted to share the news with you. You have a son, and I named him Trunks, after my father.” Carefully, she tilted the sleeping baby towards the camera. “He was born three days ago.”

Vegeta remained silent, and she watched, waiting patiently as he appeared to examine the baby. His face remained impassive, and she itched to know what was going through his mind.

Eventually, it was a look of derision that surfaced on his features. “It's even uglier than I expected,” he sneered.

She glared at him through the camera, feeling both irritated and offended by the comment, despite the fact that she had half-known he would say just a thing. “ _Trunks_  is  _cute_ ,” she said, tilting her chin upwards in defiance. “Besides,  _you_  can't call him ugly; he looks just like you.”

Vegeta scoffed. “ _That_  is not my face.”

“It is!” she insisted. “It sure isn't mine! He has my colouring, but his face is yours, Vegeta.  _Everyone_  says so.”

She saw Vegeta's mouth open as if to protest, but before he could speak the baby grunted, scrunched his tiny face in anger, and opened his mouth wide, emitting an ear-piercing wail.

“Hey, there there darling,” she cooed, rocking the baby with one arm as she reached for the mouse with the other. She looked up at the computer screen, a frown creasing her brow. “I have to go,” she told Vegeta over the baby's cries.

She didn't wait for Vegeta's acknowledgement before she shut the video link down.


	18. Salad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The prompt for this chapter was `salad' from the Fruit Salad Challenge on Blue & Black.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

 

**Salad**

Bulma sat in a chair in the living room, pushing a half-eaten salad around her plate with a fork as she frowned dejectedly at the mix of greens. What she really wanted was a big piece of chocolate cake with extra whipped cream and a cherry on top, not all this  _healthy_  stuff.

“I didn't think you were a salad kind of girl.”

She looked up at the comment, pouting as she watched Yamcha take another huge bite of pizza. Puar sat beside him on the couch, eating through a third can of tuna fish.

“I'm not,” she replied, and placed her plate on the floor with distaste. Stretching her body across the length of the couch, she sighed, and patted her slightly rounded stomach. “But I have to lose the baby weight. It's already been two months, and I'm still chunky.”

Yamcha didn't reply immediately, having just shoved an entire piece of pizza in his mouth. Bulma rolled her eyes at the sight, and screwed her nose up in disgust. “Ugh,” she spat, “I swear, sometimes your eating habits are as bad as Goku's.”

Yamcha laughed at the comment through his mouthful of food, but this quickly turned into a wheezing choke as he sucked something down the wrong way, and she watched as Puar thumped him on the back, a worried expression on the little cat's face. “You shouldn't eat so fast, Yamcha!” the cat squeaked as Bulma stood up and poured a fresh glass of water from the jug on the coffee table. “You could choke and die!”

Red-faced and wheezing, Yamcha shook his head, and gratefully took the glass of water she offered him. He was still chugging it down when the baby monitor on the coffee table lit up, Trunks' wails echoing through the device.

“I'll be back,” she said with a sigh, leaving Yamcha in Puar's flustered care.

. . .

Changed, dressed, and fed, Trunks lay contentedly on the bed, waving his little arms in the air as his bright blue eyes followed her across the room. She pulled off the shirt she was wearing, glancing at the clock on the way to her dresser. Between changing and feeding her fussy baby, who had just had the grace to spit up all over her shoulder, half an hour had passed, and she wondered whether Yamcha and Puar had bothered to wait around for her to come back.

She sniffed at her bare shoulder, decided that she didn't smell  _too_  much like baby shit and vomit, and pulled on a fresh shirt and jumper. She caught sight of herself in the mirror, sighed at the sight of her stomach- she had hoped she'd be back to her old size, by now- and told herself that she'd start exercising, even if it just meant taking Trunks for walks around the compound in his pram.

“Come on bubs,” she said, pulling a blue, cat-eared hat over her child's head, before picking him up in her arms. He gurgled and smiled at her, and her heart melted at the sight of his gummy grin. Kissing his chubby cheeks, she shut her bedroom door behind her, and headed back down the hall.

Yamcha  _had_  waited around. She stood just outside the entrance to the living room, watching him from across the room as he stood on the balcony, leaning casually against the railing. The cold winter wind had picked up; from where she stood she could feel it blowing in through the open ranch slider door, and she pulled the edge of Trunks' cap further down over his ears in automatic response.

Yamcha hadn't noticed her presence, and stood with his back towards her, looking up at the fading light in the sky. For the first time in a month it had been a clear- though still cold- day, and from where she stood Bulma could see the first emerging stars shining just above the horizon.

She took the opportunity to examine Yamcha without him noticing; even after a year and a half without contact, he was still startlingly familiar, and yet there was a sense of strangeness between them, a wall that had never been there before. She examined him with a sense of detachment; he had wide shoulders and a strong back, and the cock of his head, even as he stood in rest, betrayed both confidence and strength.  _No wonder so many women throw_   _themselves at him_ , she thought suddenly, her eyes widening as she realised what she had just admitted to herself.

She still found him attractive. The sudden realisation sent a twinge through her and stirred up a sick feeling in her gut that left her more confused than ever. They had never really been right for each other- deep down, she had always known that, always known that in some way they had both just  _settled_ \- and yet here he was at her house, eating her food and lounging around like he owned the place, as if nothing had changed ever between them.

And yet it had. Awkwardness hung in the air, conversations continuously lulled, and although she was sure that in time it all would fade, she knew that it would never truly go away. They'd both hurt each other too deeply the last time they'd been together, and there are only so many bouts of on-again, off-again one can take before throwing in the towel for good.

And now she had a baby to another man; a man she still loved, despite his sour demeanour and altogether lack of commitment. Her heart twisted at the thought of Vegeta; with only four months to go before the arrival of the Androids, she found herself in a constant state of tension, worrying about the impending battle, wondering if Vegeta had become a Super Saiyan at last, hoping- yet dreading at the same time- that Vegeta would return for the battle with Gero's machines.

And what then? She refused to think about the possibility that Vegeta might die in the battle, but if he survived- if he succeeded- what would happen next? Would he simply leave, and never return? Would he try to kill Goku? Or would he stay, and live here with her and their child?

She could have stood there- staring at Yamcha's back and trying to make sense of her feelings for either man- for a great deal longer, but Trunks had grown bored, and let out a single, loud screech designed to get her attention. The noise made her jump with fright, and Yamcha turned, catching sight of them.

She crossed the living room floor, gurgling baby in her arms, and stepped out onto the balcony. Trunks squirmed as the cold air hit him, burying his face in her chest in order to get away from the icy wind, and Bulma watched as the fur on his tail puffed out in response to the chilled air.

“Where's Puar?” she asked quickly to hide the fact that Yamcha had caught her standing and staring.

“He's got a date.”

“ _What?_ ” she asked incredulously, not bothering to hide the look on her face. Yamcha laughed and scratched at his jaw absentmindedly, his eyes lit with humour.

“Yeah, I was about as surprised as you are when he told me,” he replied. “But then I guess we shouldn't be; he's in his mid-twenties, after all. Guy's gotta get some action, sometime.”

“But…” Bulma spluttered. “He's a  _cat_.”

Yamcha laughed even harder at that, leaning heavily on the railings, his back shaking with mirth. “Where…” he began, collapsing into another fit of laughter. Drying tears from his eyes, he began again. “Where did you think kittens came from?”

She shook her head and lifted her face, watching the sky grow darker and darker by the second. Yamcha's laughter died down, and they stood in silence for a moment, taking in the winking lights of the sky above, mirrored by those in the city below.

“It's a cat-girl from the village where he was born,” Yamcha said suddenly, his voice quiet. “They're all like Puar, there.”

“Are they all shape shifters?” she asked. She was surprised, and a little ashamed, to realize that she knew so little about Puar's history. She'd always thought of Puar in relation to Yamcha, and it had never occurred to her that the little cat might need, or have, a love life. It seemed obvious now; he wasn't even really a cat, just a cat-like person, and she knew that there was many more of his kind in existence.

“Nah,” Yamcha replied. “Some of them are- the school isn't far from where they live- but most of them do other things. Act in cat food commercials and movies and other stuff. It's a lot easier to work with a cat that talks and actually knows what it's doing, rather than the regular ones.”

“Huh.”

The stood in silence once more, tension thick in the air. Trunks whined against her shoulder, and she rocked him gently, kissing his small, covered head.

“Have you met her?” she asked suddenly, looking up at Yamcha.

“Who?”

“Puar's date.”

Yamcha shook his head in reply, his eyes gazing over the view of the city. “Nah. We'll see how it goes. It makes me wonder, do you think they make condoms for cats?”

“ _Yamcha_ ,” she replied with disdain, although she couldn't hide the smile on her face. “That's gross. I really don't want to think of little Puar like that.”

“I'm just saying. Don't want any accidents happening. It would be hard, I reckon, to have a kid with someone you hardly know.”

“Hm,” she muttered, shifting Trunks in her arms, knowing full well that Yamcha was no longer referring to Puar.

“People are entitled to make their own decisions, Yamcha.”

“I thought you said the kid was a mistake.”

“ _I_  thought we were talking about  _cats_ ,” she replied pointedly. “And no; Trunks was an accident, but he's definitely not a mistake.” She looked down at the baby in her arms, who grinned up at her in response. “He was meant to be,” she whispered quietly. “I know it.”

“Whatever.”

She bit her tongue, only just refraining from saying  _Get over it_. She had to give him credit for trying; after all, he had been exceptionally good to her when Trunks was born, and since then had visited every few weeks. It was nice to have their friendship back, and she didn't want to lose it.

“It's cold out here,” she said after another bout of silence. “We should go inside.”

“Yeah, I better head off anyway,” he replied. “I've gotta train in the morning. Hey look; the full moon is out.”

She had been facing Yamcha, but turned now in the direction he was pointing. She looked for only a moment before Trunks made a strange, strangled noise- almost a growl- that drew her attention.

“Oh kami!” she screamed, noticing for the first time that her baby's eyes glowed red, fangs suddenly protruding from his mouth. He grew suddenly, exploding out of his clothing, and she staggered, breathless and too shocked to scream, under his increasing weight as he began to sprout fur.

“ _Shit!_ ” she heard Yamcha exclaim as she fell backwards, but her attention was focused solely on the growing creature- now the size of a gorilla- that was crushing her with its terrifying weight, its face growing more and more distorted as a harsh growl rumbled through its growing snout.

And then the creature was shrinking once more, snout and fur and glowing eyes disappearing with a dying growl that quickly became a scream, and she watched from the ground as Yamcha deftly caught her child in one arm, his other hand clutching a large, furry tail.

The tail dropped to the ground with a thud, and Yamcha reached out with his free hand towards her. “Fuck!” he exclaimed, disgust, horror, concern and shock all playing out on his features. “Bulma, are you okay?”

He had Trunks tucked carelessly under his arm like a football, and the baby was screaming, his little face bright red with the effort. She watched as a steady stream of blood ran from the open wound on Trunks' back, and felt the panic rise within her. She couldn't breathe properly, couldn't move her arms, and a hundred different places in her body burned as if she were on fire. Her vision swam, bright dots appearing before her eyes, and she heard herself cry  _“My baby!”_  once before she slipped into darkness.

. . .

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sometimes when I write, completely unexpected things pop up. Talking about Puar's love life was one of them, and although I usually chop bits like that out, I liked the scene too much to cut it. I have to say, the idea probably popped into my head because I've read catgirl26's Vengeance multiple times (it's the best BV I have ever read, and I've read A Lot). If you've read it, you know what I'm talking about in regards to Puar, and I applaud catgirl26 for daring to go there and want to give her credit for making me think of Puar as more than just a cat. If you haven't read it, definitely do!
> 
> In regards to the moon, Kami restored that after it got blown up in Dragon Ball (from what I remember werewolves and wolf-men were stuck in the wrong form, and having no moon would seriously mess with tides and the ecosystem etc), and I like to think that he restored it again after Piccolo destroyed it in DBZ.


	19. Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The prompt used for this chapter was `taste' from the Senses Challenge.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

 

**Taste**

Bulma sat on her bed as the sun rose behind a blanket of grey clouds, her hand resting gently on her sleeping son. He seemed fine now; apart from the lack of a tail- and the bandage that now sat in its place- he looked no different from how he had the day before.

But his unexpected transformation the night before had brought with it a shift in the air that marked change. To Bulma, the foretold future was now as inevitable as it was close; the Androids would arrive soon, and with them would come bloodshed, and possibly death.

With a shudder she remembered flashes of her own near-death experience - the sound of her child's deep, throaty growl as he changed before her eyes, his monstrous jaw and glistening white teeth as his lips pulled back in an instinctual sneer so much like the expression Vegeta constantly wore.

Her own injuries had been substantial, though thankfully all she remembered of it was a cloud of pain before she slipped into a numbed darkness. Strangely, though, she could recall clearly the taste of iron in her mouth, and then the tang of something different as she was pulled back into the world of the living; a bitter wet glob of something forced down her throat with prodding fingers as she fought for consciousness, her child's screams the only thing keeping her tethered to the living plane.

The unpleasant taste had been a senzu bean, pre-chewed by Yamcha so that she could swallow it easily. By chance he had been carrying one on him, and after quickly realising that she had numerous internal injuries, he'd wasted no time in giving her the life-saving bean. She'd healed and woken with a start to find Yamcha leaning worriedly over her, and her parents standing anxiously in the doorway, Trunks screaming and writhing in her mother's arms.

In the light of the morning, the whole thing felt like a dream- or a nightmare. Watching Trunks sprawled on her bed in a contented sleep, it was hard to imagine that he was the same great monster that had very nearly crushed her to death.

She was reluctant to wake him, but suddenly felt the urge to check that he was healing. Very gently, she pulled back the edge of the bandage on his back and peered at the perfectly round wound.

It was already healing well, which was testament to his Saiyan heritage. She'd seen enough of Vegeta's wounds to know that it would heal quickly, but although it should have pleased her, the realisation only made her feel a little more ill.

How many more characteristics, she suddenly wondered, had he inherited from Vegeta? She chewed on her lip, and stroked the back of his near-bald head. Would he crave violence, like his alien father?

The question led onto further disturbing thoughts. If Trunks was old enough, would he want to fight the coming Androids, too? The memory of a five-year-old Gohan, lying naked, bloody and bruised on the battlefield after Vegeta's defeat flitted through her head, and she flinched at the thought of her son ever going through such a thing. Suddenly, Chi Chi's irrational, overbearing behaviour regarding the kid no longer seemed that irrational at all; in fact, as Bulma tried to visualise her son in five, ten years' time, she shrank away from the images in her mind, images of a Saiyan boy who wanted nothing but to fight. How could she live, if her baby went out onto a battlefield? How could she live, if it was  _her_  son that had to fight the coming Androids?

Ever so gently, she picked her baby up, cradling him against her chest. He grunted in his sleep, nuzzling into her, and she felt as if her heart would burst. She would keep him this way forever, if she could.

If only it would keep him safe.


	20. Smell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter was written using the prompt `smell'. That was the final Senses Challenge prompt I had left, so for fun I mentioned all the other Senses Challenge prompts in this chapter as well. It's a short chapter, but to me it feels significant, and marks the beginning of the final section of this story. There is lemon (the same version is up on all three sites), so be warned.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

 

**Smell**

In the dark of the night, she awoke.

It was not at all frightening, nor was it sudden. At some point she simply became aware that she was no longer dreaming, became aware that those fingers brushing along her stomach were  _real_ , as real as the lips that brushed her collarbone, and the tongue that licked her earlobe.

It was as if she were floating. Her limbs felt weightless as she lifted her pale arms, allowing her visitor's strong hands to pull her nightgown over her head. Calloused palms smoothed once more over the skin of her belly, tickling her, before the fingers snagged in the tops of her panties.

She still felt half-asleep. It was peaceful and secret, this meeting, just like so many times before. They spoke no words as he stretched over her, their lips brushing softly at first, becoming more urgent as hands explored in the dark, mapping the lines of each other's bodies.

When she opened her eyes once more, she couldn't make out more than the general shape him rising above her, but she did well enough with her other senses alone. She could smell him- a sweet, musky, spicy scent- and could hear each gasping breath, his chest vibrating with a subterranean purr that told her he was pleased.

She felt his body shudder beneath her fingertips as he slid inside her, and they muffled each other's moans with desperate kisses.  _Been_   _so long…_  she thought foggily…  _so long…_

“You're back,” she whispered against his shoulder, and stuck out her tongue to taste his skin. He was the same as she remembered, and she closed her eyes once more, feeling more than light headed, feeling both strong and vulnerable; dying, living, breathing, gasping.

She held onto him for dear life, wrapping herself around him as much as she possibly could, breathing him in, imprinting it all to memory.

In the dark of the night she fell back, exhausted, and slept.

. . .

She awoke to the bright light of the morning. Beneath the single sheet, she wiped her fingers experimentally against the inside of one thigh, only half surprised to find the skin there slick with juices.

She rolled onto her side, burying her head into the pillow beside her, and relaxed. She lay there for a long time, listening to the world wake around her, knowing she should get up, but unable to move.

His scent filled her head, lulling her into a haze of half-sleep. In the warmth of the bed, she remembered his lips on the back of her neck, his arms locked tight around her, his body hard against her, around her, within her.

She wanted to rest; to relax in the bed indefinitely without a worry, at peace. But the significance of the date woke her, making both her heart and mind race as she sat up in bed, her eyes focusing on the battered piece of armour that lay discarded on her floor.

It was the morning of May 12th.

And Vegeta was back.


	21. Orange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was written using the Spectrum Challenge prompt `orange' from the Blue & Black livejournal community. If you haven't checked the group out yet, I really recommend doing so, as there are some great B/V stories posted there. :)
> 
> When I think of the word orange in relation to DBZ, Goku always pops into my mind.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Orange**

The lab was silent, the only sound her own breathing as she lifted the soldering iron from its hook. The metal on the circuitry gave a small hiss as she touched it with the hot tip, small wisps of smoke rising from the hole in Android Sixteen's head. Her father had gone for a lunch break some half-hour before, leaving her alone to continue doggedly piecing the broken machine back together.

She placed the soldering iron back in its hook, looking up just in time to see a flash of orange and black materialize out of thin air. She shrieked in fright and fell backwards against the desk behind her, her eyes wide and staring at the man who had suddenly appeared in her lab.

Once her heart had stopped racing from the fright- she would never get used to the way Goku appeared out of thin air- she straightened herself, switched off her soldering iron, and looked the Saiyan angrily in the eye.

He was smiling. Not one of his boyish, wide grins; this smile was closer to a smirk. Humour danced in his green eyes, and his lips remained closed, the corners of his mouth tilting up. This was the smile Son-kun gave her every time he was truly laughing at her.

“It's not funny, Goku,” she frowned, hands placed firmly on her hips. “You've gotta give me some warning before you come barging in here like that!”

He laughed outright at that, one big hand reaching back to scratch his head in habit as he grinned down at her. She found herself grinning back- Son-kun's smile was infectious- and shaking her head.

“So you found them all?” she asked, nodding at the radar in his hand.

“Yep,” he replied, handing her invention back to her. “Thanks for letting me borrow it again, Bulma.”

The stood in silence for a moment- there was a question on the tip of her tongue, but she was suddenly too afraid to ask, too fearful of the answer- and then Goku shrugged, reaching up to his forehead with two fingers. “I'll see you around -”

“Goku! Wait!” she cried, darting around the lab table.

He paused as her hand clutched at the sleeve of his jacket, pulling his arm back down. She could feel the solid muscle beneath the cloth, strong and real and  _alive_ , and the breath caught in her throat. They had less than a week until the Cell Games. Less than a week, and they could all be nothing but lifeless bones.

She was sure Goku could sense her fear; he was a Saiyan, after all, and Vegeta always seemed to be able to do so. His blonde brows furrowed, green eyes peering down at her with worry as the smile disappeared from his face.

“My son- Trunks,” she spoke, so quietly that it was almost a whisper, “he said you told him that you're not strong enough to beat Cell. Is that true?”

“Yeah, it is,” he replied, and heart dropped. “But I have a plan,” he added hastily, “I think it will work.”

“You think?” she replied, feeling her face flush and her head thump. “You  _think_  you have a plan that  _might_  work? !  _Goku!_  Why aren't you training more?”

Goku had stepped back. She watched as he shrugged his shoulders once more, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “Because I can't,” he replied with a finality that chilled her to the bone. “There's nothing I could do in the days left that would get me strong enough, so what's the point? Besides, I'm sure my plan will work.”

“And if it doesn't?”

Another shrug. “Then we'll all die, I guess.”

She sat down heavily on the nearest stool, feeling that she no longer had the energy to stand. Beside her, Android Sixteen lay prostrate on the lab table, numerous parts scattered around the still form.

“What's the point of me even fixing him then,” she muttered, gesturing angrily at the Android's `body'. “What's the point of everyone else training, huh? ! I haven't even  _seen_  Vegeta properly since… since…” her face flushed as she remembered their last encounter, silent and desperate in the night. She wasn't going to share  _that_  with Goku.

“I am so sick of all of this shit,” she hissed, thumping her hand down hard on the table beside her. “Fuck that Dr Gero! And I told you Goku; I  _told_  you we should have just used the dragonballs to go after him before he set the Androids free, but nobody listened to me!”

“Bulma -”

“I don't want you to die, Goku!” she cried, swiping at her damp eyes furiously. “Promise me you'll come back alive!”

“I haven't met Sixteen personally, but Krillin says he's a good guy, so I think you should fix him anyway,” Goku replied with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “As for coming back alive… I'll do my best. You take care, Bulma.”

He was gone in an instant, leaving her with a very bad feeling in her gut.

. . .

_“I'll do my best.”_

After an hour, she had given up trying to work on the Android for the day, Goku's words repeating in her head with haunting finality. She did not want to admit it, but it had felt as if he were saying goodbye, as if he already knew his own fate.

She had wanted to face her fears head-on. That was one of the reasons why she had flown into the battlefield on May 12th, determined to see the Androids for herself. She had been sick of waiting. She was still sick of waiting.

“Mother?”

She looked up to find a pair of blue eyes- the colour so much like her own- staring worriedly back at her. “Are you all right?” Trunks asked, taking another step towards her. His hair fell past his shoulders- he'd been training in the Room of Spirit and Time again- and his armour looked battered. “You've been staring out the window for the last ten minutes.”

She had, she realised. Her cup of coffee had gone cold in her still hands; she'd been too caught up in her own thoughts to notice that Trunks had even returned. Only now did she notice how low the sun hung in the sky, the afternoon having passed in a blur.

When he son stood at his full height, she had to tilt her head slightly to look him in the eye. She smiled at the fact, glad to know that if they did all survive, her baby would one day be taller than his father.

“I'm fine, just… worried,” she replied with a sigh, reaching up to touch her son's face. “I worry about all of you, every time you fight.”

“I know,” he replied, looking away, the light from the late sun accentuating the bones of his face, making him look even more like Vegeta. “But we have to. There's no other way.”

She had a sudden memory of Vegeta, snarling in anger.  _“I have to be stronger than Kakarot!”_  he had hissed at her.  _“You know that!_   _There is no other way!”_

“I know you do,” she acknowledged with a wry smile as she peered up at her son. “It's in your blood.”


	22. Family Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter was written using the prompt `family dinner' from the Earth Customs Challenge on the Blue & Black LJ community. As far as I can tell, there are only four more chapters left after this one. Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers :)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Family Dinner**

“Oh Vegeta, you're just in time for dinner!” her mother called, and Bulma looked up in surprise, almost dropping the bowl of peas she was carrying to the table. Her eyes met his, and she flushed, noticing the humour that danced in his black eyes. He was laughing at her.

The baby, already strapped into his high chair, shrieked in sudden delight- most likely because of all the food that was being piled onto the table- and drew Vegeta's attention. Bulma set the bowl of peas down, glancing under her lashes at Vegeta as she did so. He hadn't seen much of their younger son, and it was interesting to watch them together.

“Oooo!” the baby cried suddenly, pointing a chubby finger at Vegeta. “Ooo!” Bulma laughed as Vegeta's eyes widened in surprise at being addressed in such a manner, and bent down towards her baby, smiling.

“That's Daddy,” she grinned. “Can you say Da-da?”

“Bleh!” Trunks cried, kicking his chubby legs.

“Da-da, say Da-da,” she continued, pointing at Vegeta. Trunks giggled, showing off his gummy smile, and blew a raspberry.

“Oh, you silly baby!” she cooed, tickling him. “Are you hungry?” she asked, kissing his head. “I bet you are! I bet you are, my little Saiyan man!” she continued, her voice rising and falling in a sing-song of baby talk as Trunks grinned up at her. “Yes you are! Here you go!” she added, handing the baby a hunk of peeled, boiled potato. “You eat that while Mama gets her food.”

She straightened up, and was surprised to find that Vegeta was still watching her, an indecipherable expression on his face. She smiled back at him, noticing the clean clothes he wore and his damp hair- he'd obviously just finished showering. “I was beginning to think we wouldn't see you again before the big battle,” she blurted.

“I need to use the gravity machine,” he replied, taking a seat at the table as her mother brought over a plateful of roast chicken. Before she could reply, her mother interrupted.

“Bulma, be a dear and call your father and that handsome boy for me, the food is growing cold!”

“Kay,” she replied, already halfway to the intercom on the wall. She pressed the button for the lab- her father had gone to show Trunks their progress on Sixteen half an hour before- and yelled “Hey! Vegeta's eating all the Dinner!”

She heard Vegeta snort behind her, and laughed.

For a moment, she could almost forget that there was only four days left until the Cell Games.

. . .

She was full, and sat back in her chair, watching in amazement as Vegeta and the older Trunks continued to eat. She met her dad's eye over the table and grinned, seeing that he was thinking the same thing.

“Like father like son,” she murmured, and both men paused to stare at her, identical expressions of surprise etched on their faces, forks hovering halfway to their mouths. She laughed as they each noticed the other's expression, grunted, and continued eating in unison.

It struck her suddenly that as unorthodox as they all were, they were a family. Her heart twisted at the thought that Vegeta was unlikely to admit to such a thing, and she chewed on her lip as she stood to lift her dozing baby from his high chair, contemplating.

. . .

“Dinner was nice,” she commented, stepping out into the cool air. Vegeta grunted in reply, his eyes trained on the darkening skyline.

They were alone on the balcony, and Bulma closed the ranch slider door behind her for added privacy, despite the fact that the living room was currently empty.

She took a deep breath of the fresh air and watched as a flock of starlings flew across the city, thinking  _This is the calm before the storm_. There was a sense of peace in the air, and she loathed to disturb it, but at the same time she knew that this was possibly her last chance to really speak to Vegeta before the Cell Games. Tomorrow he would be back into heavy training, and she would be working on the Android again. And so, she braced herself for the plunge.

“If we all survive, what will you do once the Cell Games are over?” she asked him, her voice calm.

He didn't look at her, but she saw the muscle in his jaw jump. “Defeat Kakarot,” he answered quietly, his eyes still watching the horizon.

She pursed her lips, disliking the idea, but pushed all thoughts of a battle between Goku and Vegeta aside. “And then what?”

“What would you like me to say?” he shot back snidely, suddenly rounding on her. “That I'll stay here on this mud-ball, backwater planet?”

She lifted her chin, staring him in the eye. “You know damn well that this is a nice place. I know I haven't been to many other planets -”

“No, you haven't; you don't have any idea -”

“ _But_ ,” she continued, glaring at him in a bid to make him listen, “ _you_  could belong here. You could have a home. This can be your home.”

He sneered, his upper lip curling back over his teeth. “You are presumptuous, Bulma. You have no idea what I want.”

She sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “I think you're getting so uppity because you don't even know what you want any more.” He shot her a dark glare, opening his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him.

“You need to choose, Vegeta.  _I_   _want you_. You can live here, with me, and this can be your home.” She swallowed, feeling a lump forming in her throat, and willed for the tears to stay away. “I love you,” she continued, staring into his eyes. She saw something flicker in them for an instant, and it gave her hope. “I will love you, and give you everything I can. But you need to choose to accept it, because I can't keep giving when there is this uncertainty about whether you'll even return at the end of each day. I need to know, so you need to make a choice to either stay or...”

She looked away, blinking, and wiped quickly at the tears that had blurred her vision. “Just… think about it, okay?” she asked, looking at him once more. The light was fading quickly, and she couldn't make out much of his features, but could tell he'd slipped his impassive mask back into place.

She stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and kissed him chastely on the lips, imprinting the smell and taste of him to memory, just in case- in case they died, in case he never came back. “I know you've been alone for so long,” she whispered in his ear, her hands brushing his shoulders, “but you don't have to be any more. If you stay here with me, I promise you, you'll never be alone again.”

She planted a final kiss on his cheek, and stepped back, heading for the door. With one foot over the threshold, she paused, and looked back over her shoulder. Vegeta was nothing but a black silhouette against the skyline.

“If you decide that you'd rather leave, don't come to my bedroom again. You can keep the ship.”


	23. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was written using the prompt `blue' from the Spectrum Challenge.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

 

**Blue**

_“And the Cell games are set to begiiiiin!”_  the reporter cried.  _“Mr Satan will_   _step up to save the world in less than five minutes!”_

“Ugh,” Bulma spat, crossing the room and switching the television off. Trunks made a shocked noise and wriggled in his bouncer, waving at the blank screen.

“Sorry bubs,” she told him, lifting the baby into her arms, “but Mommy can't stand to watch it. Let's go outside instead.”

She had seen glimpses of her friends on TV; all looking stern, all waiting for the fight to begin. She glanced at the television one last time, then shook her head and left the room.

It wasn't that she didn't want to support her friends, but there were others at the Cell Games too; idiots that had no idea what a real fight was like, and she had no desire to watch a massacre on TV. She was sure Son-kun would step in to save those foolish enough to attempt to fight Cell- Son would save anyone- but the way the reporter talked about the Cell, with no real clue of just how dangerous the monster was, drove her mad.

The air outside was warm. She carried Trunks over to her favourite part of the garden, where a small patch of lawn sat surrounded by a circle of her mother's roses. Trunks gurgled as she set him down on the grass, and she smiled, running a hand over his downy head.

She lay down beside him, content to watch the baby crawl around, babbling to himself. The sky was a cloudless, perfect blue, and her heart ached in fear that it could all cease to exist. Yamcha had once told her that the otherworld was a nice place, but she wasn't ready for that yet.

How long, she wondered, until the real fighting began? She doubted that the TV cameras would hold up in the presence of Super Saiyans- Vegeta's power had short-circuited a number of electronics over the years- but she would turn the television back on when she was sure that the real fighting had begun. She owed it to her men to watch.

 _Let them be okay_ , she thought. She wasn't sure exactly who she was asking; she knew now that when it came to super-powered monsters like Frieza and Cell, the Kais were almost as helpless as she was. But it made her feel better to pray all the same.  _Let them be okay. Let Trunks be okay. Let Vegeta be okay._

She wondered if she would ever see Vegeta again. If they died... it was unlikely, to say the least. If they lived, though...

He had avoided her since their last conversation. She'd told him to take the ship if he wanted, and he had; it no longer stood on the lawn. She supposed he had the capsule tucked away in his armour.

“I didn't mean it,” she whispered to herself. “I don't want him to go.”

Trunks crawled over her stomach, babbling to her noisily, and she hugged him to her, kissing his chubby cheeks.

 _It'll be soon_ , she thought, pressing her palms against the ground, waiting to feel the subterranean shaking that most would mistake for a small earthquake, if they even felt it at all. She'd been around fighters for long enough to know the difference, though.

And there it was. A hum in the earth, a crackle of energy in the air. In a distant desert, her men were preparing for battle, their ki rising, electrifying the sky.

She stood, picking up her baby, and headed back inside to watch.

. . .

As she had predicted, the news networks had lost contact with their reporters partway through the battle, leaving her and everyone else on Earth waiting anxiously.

For hours she sat in the living room, checking the TV every ten minutes to see if there was any more news, feeling the ground rumble beneath her. She had left the balcony doors open, and could feel the slight static of ki in the air, could see it in the way the hair on her arms rose.

 _At least I did what_   _I_   _could_ , she told herself. She'd fixed Android Sixteen, and he was strong. He'd promised her he would do his best in the fight. Surely his presence would help?

When the rumbling stopped altogether, she felt truly afraid. With no way of knowing who had won, each minute dragged on, each hour feeling like a lifetime.

It was growing dark when she heard the front door open. She ran down the stairs, saw her son for an instant, and flew into his arms.

She sobbed against him- in relief, in exhaustion- and felt his arms wrap around her, strong and reassuring. “Dad is fine, mother,” he told her, and her sobs racked her body.  _Vegeta_   _is_   _alive. Trunks_   _is_   _alive._

“Who?” she asked, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Who beat Cell?”

“Gohan,” he grinned. “He ascended!”

“And everyone's alive,” she whispered, laughing in amazement. “And I've been worried all this time!”

Trunks' face fell, and her heart dropped. “Who?” she asked, her voice sounding very small to her own ears. “ _Who?_  ”

Trunks looked away, avoiding her gaze. “Goku gave his life to save us, and he isn't coming back,” he said gravely. He said more, but she did not hear him, the world blurring around her.

 _Goku. Son-kun._   _Gone._

She sank to her knees, curling into herself, dying.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm not trying to suggest that Bulma can sense ki. Rather, I think she would feel the effect of it being discharged somewhat- after all, the show always shows the Earth shaking etc whenever anyone powers up.


	24. Interlude: In which the Saiyan Begins to Decode his Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is chapter is from Vegeta's POV. The prompt is `love' from the Earth Customs Challenge. Thank you to everyone leaving reviews or putting this story in the favourites :) I really appreciate the support!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

 

 **Interlude: In which the Saiyan**   **Begins to Decode**   **his Heart**

_Damn you, Kakarot._

The curses continued in an endless stream through his head.  _Damn you. Damn you and your son. Damn it all._

All of that training. All of his power. It was all a fucking waste.

He had been cheated, cheated out of his birthright by that low-class clown, cheated out of his revenge when the idiot decided to go and kill himself. “Fool!” he bellowed, his voice echoing in the desolate canyon below. “Fool! Blast you Kakarot, I hope you rot in Hell!”

He was supposed to defeat Kakarot. His pride demanded it, for fuck's sake. “How dare you die like that, you bastard! I am your Prince! You should have bowed to me!” he cried, snarling, clenching and unclenching his fists, wishing fervently that it could have been  _him_  that dealt the final blow; feeling utterly frustrated by the fact that he knew, deep down, that Kakarot would have beaten him anyway. “You  _fucking bastard!_ ”

Fuck. Would he ever fight again? He felt as if he were turned to stone, frozen in place on this blasted rock in the middle of goddamned nowhere on this fucking shithole of a planet.

What to do? Kakarot was gone, his vengeance against that clown no longer possible. The idiot's son… but no, the idiot's son was stronger than him- had ascended, had reached a pinnacle he had not thought possible. He was now weaker than that blasted child. He had even been saved by the boy.

He pulled his hands down over his face, growling low in his throat, breathing heavily, willing himself to stay in some sort of control. He was exhausted- his body needed rest, needed food- but at the same time he was filled with a fire that charred him to the core. He wanted to scream, the blood in his veins turned to molten lava. He wanted to fly, and keep on going forever, away from all of his shame. He wanted to kill something. He wanted, he wanted…

 _“You need to relax, Vegeta,”_  her voice echoed, unbidden, in his head. He remembered the day she had told him that, not long after he had first lain with her.

 _“You're always so keyed up,” she whispered, planting a kiss on his_   _chest._   _He had pulled her hair loose from its ties, and it hung in blue waves that curled over his skin. He curled a lock of her strange hair around his finger, hissed as her teeth grazed his nipple, and allowed her to push him backwards until he lay flat on the bed._

_Her lips had continued down, her tongue darting quick into his navel, down further again…_

_“Woman,”_   _he groaned;_   _in_   _wanting or_   _warning, he did not know._

_“It's okay,” she whispered, kissing his hip, her eyes- so blue- staring at him with a reverent passion that startled him. “Let me do this for you.”_

And he had. He'd let her do it many times since then.

“Oh, fuck off,” he hissed, turning around as if she were there, watching him turn his back on her. “She means nothing to me,” he told the world around him, but his voice sounded half-hearted to his ears. “She is  _nothing!_ ” he screamed, blasting the nearest rock formation for the hell of it. It crumbled into the valley below, sending a cloud of dust flying high into the sky, and he watched as the wind bore the particles away, the cloud vanishing into thin air.

He needed no one. He wanted no one.

 _“I want you._   _You can live here, with me, and this can be your home,"_  she had said. And if he did, he would be trapped here forever on this useless planet filled with useless people who knew nothing of him, nothing of the greatness of Saiyans, nothing of his battles, nothing of his victories! A planet filled with ignorant imbeciles… he couldn't think of anything worse.

Decision made, he pulled the capsule out from under his armour. He would leave this planet, with its memories of humiliating defeats, behind. He would not return for anything, or anyone.

_“Do you think it's a girl or a boy?” she asked, her hand smoothing over the slight mound of her belly. “I'd love a little girl.”_

_She looked at him, her eyes smiling in the dim light of the moon. “Although a little boy would be cute, with a good looking guy like you for the father.”_

_Her gaze turned inward suddenly, seeing something he could not. “As long as it's healthy,” she whispered,_   _her_   _hand rubbing the mound lovingly._

 _He sat up, pushing her legs open, ignoring her surprised “Again!”_   _Silencing_   _her with a kiss,_   _he rode_   _her hard, watching her_   _swollen_   _breasts_   _bounce_   _as he did_   _his best to ignore the child's ki and the ever-growing evidence of its presence. He didn't give a fuck about her child…_

The memory of the child, pointing at him and babbling incoherently, staring at him with those huge blue eyes- her eyes- flashed through his mind, and he hissed in annoyance, locking the door of the capsule ship behind him. He didn't give a shit about the child. He didn't give a shit about his son, or the woman.

 _Trunks, lying broken on the ground, the gaping hole in_   _the boy's_   _chest almost black with blood,_   _each_   _wracking cough piercing_   _him_   _as if_   ** _he_**   _were the one whose chest lay open._

He set the coordinates for the closest trade planet- he needed to pick up supplies before he carried on- and pushed all thoughts of his son aside. The boy was alive again- he'd sensed his ki. He ignored that image of his dying son, ignored the odd  _Why?_  in his mind, ignored the thoughts that questioned his motives for attacking Cell.

 _To avenge_   _your_   _son._

 _Bullshit. He's not even_   _my_   _son- he's from a different timeline._

 _He_   _is_   _still yours._   _You know damn well he is._

Regardless, he was leaving all of that behind. The ship's engine hummed, and he braced himself, leaning against the controls as the ship shot into the air, the sudden velocity making his stomach churn and his head swim for an instant.

He shook the nausea off, glancing out the window at the planet he was leaving behind. The land around West City lay shrouded in darkness- night had fallen there- but the lights of the city itself burned brightly, as brightly as the boy's ki suddenly burned in his brain.

Bulma. He could sense her too; her ki was miniscule, and yet it was unique from every other ki on the planet, ringing clear in his mind.

She was holding the child. He could sense it; their ki so close that they almost intertwined, the infant's dwarfing that of its mother. It struck him suddenly, that she could have easily died while carrying that power within her. She was so fragile.

 _“I will love you, and give you everything I can,” she told him, her eyes burning with passion, brimming with tears._   _Her_   _face_   _was_   _fierce with determination, and he saw, truly saw, the strength within her._

The ship was rising higher and higher; soon he would be out of the planet's atmosphere. Her ki tugged at him, as did their sons', and he felt sick.

He hesitated, looked down at the controls, then back at the lights of the cities below.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “They're just useless Earthlings!” And yet his fingers moved across the controls.

 _“Override of current_   _command_   _not permitted_   _during ascent,”_  the ship told him, and he screamed incoherently, knowing he had get out before he left the Earth's atmosphere.

Powering up, her charged at the wall of the ship, tearing through the metal, hoping he had enough ki left to make it. He flew through the air, felt the heat of the exploding ship behind him, and drew all the power he had, propelling himself forward, angling towards the glowing lights of West City, holding his breath, feeling his lungs burn with the strain of it all.

He passed through the clouds, felt his ki running dry, and let himself free fall, watching the Earth rush towards him, taking great, gasping breaths, thinking  _You're insane_  over and over again.

He drew the last of his ki forth in the last thousand feet, forced himself to keep going, to keep flying over the fields and lakes and mountains of this planet that he had come to know, growing closer and closer to Capsule Corporation.

He landed, unsteadily, on the lawn within the compound. Too exhausted to move any further, he sank to the ground and lay flat on his back with the great yellow dome looming over him, wheezing with the effort of breathing, feeling pain in his arms and legs, his head pounding, his chest… Fuck, he was becoming soft.

He looked up at the stars, watched them burning brightly, and snorted, realizing that they held nothing of any importance anymore. Who gave a shit about conquering planets, anyway? They'd all be imbeciles out there, too.

He closed his eyes, feeling odd, as if a great weight- one he had never noticed before today- had been lifted from him.

He had chosen.


	25. Peaceful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the shortest chapter yet- a 202 word drabble- but I felt that I needed to deal with the subject matter on its own. The prompt for this was `peaceful' from the Mood Swings Challenge.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

 

**Peaceful**

The morning after the Cell Games felt… peaceful.

The pain of Goku's death was still there- a hollow burning in her heart that she knew would never quite disappear- but as she stepped out onto her bedroom balcony, she couldn't help but enjoy the fresh air and warm sunlight that kissed her skin.

 _Peace_. That's what Son Goku- and his son- had given them.

Part of her didn't understand Goku's choice to stay dead, and she didn't quite know what to make of it. She could see the nobility in it, she supposed- there  _were_  a number of enemies that specifically went after Son-kun- but at the same time she couldn't help thinking  _How can it be noble to leave a wife and child behind?_

Of course, that left her feeling guilty.

“I'm just going to trust you, Goku,” she spoke softly, sighing as she looked up at the clear sky. A gust of wind blew suddenly, ruffling her hair, and she almost believed it was him.

 _“Don't worry, Bulma,”_  he would say, grinning down at her.

She shook her head, and turned to step back inside. “I won't,” she whispered back, knowing deep down, that wherever he was, he was happy.


	26. Embrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The prompt for this chapter was `embrace'- the final prompt left from the Intimacy Challenge. Thank you to all the wonderful reviewers!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

* * *

 

**Embrace**

It hurt to say goodbye.

Bulma took a deep breath as she set down her pair of hairdressing scissors, and ran her hand once more through Trunks' hair. “I think that should do it,” she told him, doing her best to smile as she looked into his eyes through the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

“Mom -” he sighed worriedly, and she felt her cheerful mask begin to crumble, her vision blurring as she turned her face away. The sound of the chair scraping across the floor echoed in the large bathroom as Trunks got to his feet, and she found herself wrapped in his arms, his strong grasp almost crushing her.

“I'm really going to miss you,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. It didn't seem right, this deep sense of loss- she'd known him for only a few weeks- but then again, it had taken her only seconds to fall in love with her baby. Why should it have been any different with this version of her child?

“I'll miss you too,” he was saying, his voice sounding thicker than usual. “You and Dad.”

She nodded, stepping back and wiping her eyes. “Thank you, for everything,” she told him, and on impulse stretched up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. He laughed, startled, and she grinned. “Now go beat the shit out of those Androids!” she told him, placing her hands on her hips.

She followed Trunks out of the bathroom, watching as he strolled ahead of her, memorising the wide shoulders and graceful movements that he had inherited from his father, missing him already.

. . .

She stood amongst her mother's roses, watching as her son joked with Yamcha, Gohan and Krillin, emptiness curling in her gut. The shadow of the time machine fell across the lawn, covering her, and she dug her cold fingers into the pockets of her dress. It was different, with Goku's death. Her knowledge of the Otherworld reassured her- she'd see Goku again, someday. But Trunks…

He was from a different timeline; a different  _universe_. Unless he risked another trip back- and time travel was a risky business- she'd never see him again. Ever.

The sound of familiar footsteps- light, yet powerful- drew her out of her reverie with a shock that made her heart quicken, and she turned, disbelieving, to find Vegeta standing beside her.

“I thought you were gone,” she whispered, not bothering to hide her surprise as her heartbeat drummed loudly in her ears.

Something flickered in his eyes, disappearing in an instant. “No,” he replied, his voice laced with something-  _irony?_ \- before he gave her a small, infinitesimal nod of acknowledgement, and stepped past her to examine the time machine up close.

She watched Vegeta as he walked around the machine, his eyes betraying his curiosity, though his posture was the same as always- uptight and aloof. He wore a blue shirt and jeans, and she realised that this was the first time she'd ever really seen him look comfortable in Human clothing.  _He looks like he belongs here_ , she thought suddenly, and her heart seemed to swell in her chest.

She looked up at the time machine, her gaze catching on the single word, written in her handwriting, that adorned the machine's side.

**_HOPE! !_ **

She wondered, suddenly, if the future Bulma was trying to tell her something.

. . .

She waved up at the machine until it disappeared into thin air. There were tears in her eyes, but she was grinning, happy to see Trunks so at peace with himself, happy, knowing that her son would save his world.

The others filed inside, following her mother, who had declared that lunch was ready. She lingered outside, though, not yet ready to get back into any daily routines. After three years of waiting anxiously for the Android invasion, Trunks' departure marked the end of it all. It felt… odd.

Perhaps Vegeta felt the same. She glanced over at him, where he stood leaning casually against the trunk of an old tree. The question-  _Are you going to stay here with me?_ \- burned on the tip of her tongue.

“Vegeta -”

“Bulma, Vegeta dear!” her mother interrupted, and Bulma turned to see the woman standing in the doorway, one hand placed firmly on her hip, the other brandishing a massive ladle. “The food is going cold!”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Coming!” she shouted, but her mother's form had already disappeared back inside. With a sigh, and a final, secretive glance at Vegeta, she headed for the door.

“Bulma.”

She paused, half-turning to look back at the man who hardly ever used her name, and found that he was staring at her, the answer to her unspoken question burning in his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat.

She stepped forward, feeling weightless as her feet carried her across the lawn towards him. He lifted a hand towards her, palm up in invitation, and she smiled. It was such a small gesture, but from him it meant so much.

She took his hand, feeling the blazing warmth of his alien skin, so different from her own. And under the privacy of an old apple tree, she kissed him.

His lips were as soft as she remembered them to be, his smell just as sweet. She buried her hands in his thick hair, her fingers burning as she clutched at him, revelling in his embrace.

“You're home,” she whispered fiercely against his mouth, eyes closed, her lips smiling. He kissed her once more in reply, hard and desperate in question-  _Are you_   _sure?_ \- and she replied in kind.

The Androids were gone, and the future lay unwritten.

But she had hope. And Vegeta.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for letting me share this story with you :) I'll be working on some of my other B/Vs from now on. Although I'm not doing a direct sequel, my collection of B/V drabbles and one-shots (365 Days with You) will be written in the same `universe' as this story, so I might make reference to the events in this fic at some point.
> 
> With love,
> 
> Pic.


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